'••.: 


• 


(  i  >*im» 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OP 

CALIFORNIA 

AN  DIEGO 


UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 
Donated  in  memory  of 


John   W 


by 

His  Son   and  Daughter 


N  W.  SNYBER 


"All  the  world  's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players : 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances ; 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts. 

"And  then  the  lover, 

Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woeful  ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress'  eyebrow.     Then  a  soldier, 
Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard, 
Jealous  in  honour,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel, 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputation,  even  in  the  cannon's  mouth." 

SHAKSPEARE — "As  You  Like  /// 


THE     RHYME 


OF 

THE     BORDER    WAR. 

A    HISTORICAL    POEM 

OF  THE 

KANSAS-MISSOURI    GUERRILLA    WAR; 

IT 

BEFORE  AND   DURING   THE    LATE    REBELLION, 

THE    PRINCIPAL   CHARACTER    BEING 

THE     FAMOUS    GUERRILLA, 
CHARLES     WILLIAM     QUANTRELL. 

BY 

THOMAS     BROWER     PEACOCK, 

AUTHOR  OF 
"THE  VENDETTA,"  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


NEW     YORK: 

Copyright,  1880,  by 

G.    IV,   Carleton  &  Co.,  Publishers. 

MDCCCLXXX. 
[ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED   BY  THE   AUTHOR.] 


Stereotyped  by 

SAMUEL  STODDEU.  TH<TW 

ELECTIIOTYPER  &  STKKHOTTPEB,  Piinrrrao  AND  BooK-Boromo  Oo. 
90  ANN  STREET,  N.  Y.  N.  Y. 


TO 

I.    E.    P. 

•  None  without  hope  e'er  loved  the  brightest  fair, 
But  Love  can  hope  where  Reason  would  despair." 

— Lyttelton. 


CONTENTS. 


CANTO    I. 
Introductory — War — Kansas — Parting  Scene 9 

CANTO  II. 

Hildcbrand-Banquet  —  Quantrell's     Early     Home     in 

Ohio 24 

CANTO  III. 

Lulu  Earl — The  Storm — Quantrell  at  the  Home  of  the 

Earls 31 

CANTO  IV. 

The  Camp  of  Jennison — Jennison  and  Quantrell  — 
Death  of  Quantrell's  Friends — Quantrell's  Solil 
oquy  and  Vow  of  Vengeance  in  the  Vale  of 
Avadore 43 

* 

CANTO  V. 

Quantrell  and  his  Men — The  Harris  Home — Jennison — 
The  Battle — John  McKeene  and  Annie  Harris,  i.  e., 

Sister  Celeste 54 

[vii] 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CANTO  VI. 
Younger— Wild  Bill— The  Battle— Quantrell 82 

CANTO  VII. 

Younger  and  his  Men  after  the   Battle  with  Wild   Bill 

and  his  Rangers 90 

CANTO  VIII. 

Quantrell    in   the    Sni    Hills— Ilis    Sad    Reflections— 

Quantrell  to  the  Rescue — The  Battle 95     . 

CANTO  IX. 

General  Thomas  Ewing's  Camp— The  Poet,  Tom  Re- 

worb — The  Poet's  Adventure  and  Ethel  Trekce. . .   102 

CANTO  X. 
The  Battle  of  Westport — Conclusion 149 


THE     RHYME 


OF 


THE     BORDER    WAR. 


CANTO   I. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

ULL  many  builders  in  our  time — 
f 
Some   riches  build — some  build   in 

doubtful  ways  : 
I  build  the  fair  and  lofty  rhyme, 
Of  deeds  heroic  sing  the  praise. 
'Though  now  I  touch  the  breathing  lyre, 
To  sing  past  war,  if  of  those  days 

Should  other  harps  than  mine  aspire, 
i*  [9] 


io  INTRODUCTORY. 

It  boots  not  who  best  wears  the  bays — 

So  that  the  poem  hath  expressed 

The  music  of  the  poet's  breast 

With  feeling  that  to  time  imparts 

A  light  of  pathos  melting  hearts — 

That  mystic  power  of  poesy, 

Defineless  as  the  Deity — 

I  sing  as  now  my  whim  suits  best, 

And  leave  to  man  and  time  the  rest. 

I  sing  of  war — red  cruel  war, 

The  desperate  deeds  of  desperate  men — 

Of  war,  whose  echoes  yet  afar 

Low  thunder  over  hill  and  plain. 

Lo  !  see  excited  cities  stir  ! 
See  the  deserted  shop  and  field  ! 
What  in  man's  history  doth  occur? 
To  what  doth  fruitful  toil  now  yield  ? 
His  iron  front  grim-visaged  War 


INTR  OD  UC  TOR  Y.  1 1 

Doth  bold  display  with  wrath  unmeet ! — 
Arisen,  Mars'  fierce,  lurid  star, 
And  Battle  stamps  his  bloody  feet  ! 
O  !  to  what  ominous  shadows  dark 
Time's  finger  points  with  awful  meaning  ! 
Hark  !  the  future  stricken  groan  !  hark  ! 
The   widow's  wail  and  young   babe   she    is 
weaning  ! 

O  Kansas  !  land  of  many  a  change  ! 
Land  of  promise!  land  of  fairest  things! 
Where  war  and  carnage  oft  did  range 

o  o 

Now  Peace  and  Beauty  spread  their  wings. 
Once  thou  wert  a  dense,  dark  wilderness, 
When  the  Red  Man  monarch  ruled, 
Till  Pike  of  Pike's  Peak  came  to  bless 
Thee,  Kansas  ! — soon  the  White  Man  schooled. 
The  school  was  rough  at  first,  for  those 
Who  followed  erst  the  bold  Pike  west, 


1 2  IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y. 

Were  nicrh  as  savage  as  their  foes, 

o  o 

The  Aborigines,  at  best- 
When  the  Bowie  and  revolver  ruled, 
And  men  alone  in  these  were  schooled. 
Here  the  Border  Ruffian  came — 
Here  the  early  pioneer 
Found  the  Missourian  would  defame 
With  slavery  the  whole  frontier. 
At  Lecompton,  which  now  lies 
In  mouldering  ruins  'neath  the  skies, 
'Twas  Judge  Lecompte  who  first  essayed 
To  hold  a  court  upon  thy  soil, 
And  though  he  coaxed  and  swore  and  prayed, 
Thy  land  was  shamed  by  many  a  broil. 
Here  John  Brown,  the  fanatic,  made 
A  name  which  few  this  day  admire  ; 
And  Jim  Lane  here  his  powers  displayed 
In  orations  touched  with  fire. 
Here  bold  Montgomery  led  his  men 


IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y.  1 3 

Like  Roderick  Dhu  through  Scotia's  glen; 

Though  now  his  pen  supplants  his  sword, 

Then  Anthony*  a  fighter  warred. 

Here  journalism  first  betrayed 

The  hope  the  law  would  be  obeyed 

Through  Herald^  Free-State — Speer's  Tribune, 

Which  bloomed  a  flower  that  perished  soon. 

Then  thy  first  bard,  Realf,^:  did  essay 

The  Muse — his  poems  seem  like  day 

Amid  that  one  dark  night  of  time, 

When  all  was  vengeance,  hate  and  crime. 

All  through  thy  Border-Ruffian  days 

I  find  more  to  condemn  than  praise — 

When  Territory  and  when  State 

First  dawned — a  thing  of  fate — 

When  Governor  Reeder  saw  death  near, 

When  Shannon  ruled  the  hour  in  fear — 

*  ColJ  D.  R.  Anthony,  Editor  Lcavemvorth  Times. 
f   i.e.,  Herald  of  Freedom.         \    Richard  Realf. 


14  IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y. 

One  for  his  life  compelled  to  fly, 

One  to  resign  compelled,  or  die; 

While  Robinson  and  other  men 

Who  Kansas  served  as  rulers  then, 

Got  little  to  repay  the  trust 

Save  hope,  which  oft  deludes,  and  must. 

Thank  God  !  they've  passed — the  wagon  wheel 

Gives  place  to  iron  trail  and  steel. 

Thy  Santa  Fe  and  Pacific  roads — 

Thy  Fort  Scott  lines,  and  more  to  come, 

Have  added  thousands  of  abodes, 

For  many  thus  found  thee  a  home. 

True  literature  soars  on  the  wing — 

Thine  own — with  beauty  none  deny — 

Thy  poets,  lark-like,  sweetly  sing — 

Thy  authors  in  their  field  are  high — 

On  thy  soil,  Smith,*  of  Greeley  tie, 

*  Nicholas  Smith,  the  talented  writer,  formerly  a  resident 
of  Leavenworth,  who  married  Miss  Ida  Greeley,  eldest 
daughter  of  Horace  Greeley. 


IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y.  15 

First  wrote  tales  which  do  time  defy. 

O  Kansas  !  thou  hast  wonders  seen, 

While  Territory  and  a  State  ! 

Thou  art,  like  mortal  man,  I  ween, 

A  creature  led  by  tyrant  fate  ! 

Here  white  men  drive  the  red  man  back, 

To  be  supplanted  by  the  black; 

Though  now  and  then,  a  moment  seen, 

The  strange  wild  Indian  of  the  plain, 

His  star  is  setting  low  between 

The  Rocky  Mountains  and  the  main. 

His  fate  and  the  buffalo's  are  one — 

They  gather  to  the  setting  sun. 

O  Kansas  !  may  you  ever  be 

A  thing  of  beauty  and  of  love, 

Where  all  the  God-like  angels  see 

Hope,  Joy  and  Peace,  from  their  high  homes 

above. 
* 


1 6  IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y. 

The  maiden  Morn  walks  with  the  Hours, 
Their  tread  has  wakened  all  the  flowers 
That  now  are  smiling  sweet  and  fair, 
And  whispering  unto  God  in  prayer — 
Bright  birds  of  beauty  welkin  wing, 
And  matin-hymns  to  Heaven  do  sing; 
The  east  with  great  omnipotent  power, 
Burns  with  the  breath  of  God  this  hour! 
That  mystery  of  life — oh,  strange  bequeath  !- 
That  hems  man  in  from  birth  till  death, 
And  aught  he  knows  e'en  further  still, 
Broods  in  the  vale  and  on  the  hill  ! 
A  cottage  sweetly  veiled  in  vine 
Of  ivy,  myrtle,  and  woodbine, 
Stands  fair  with  portal  open  wide, 
Where  two  stand  talking,  side  by  side — 
A  lovely  woman,  sweet  and  young, 
A  man  who  looks  from  greatness  sprung — 
Stand  with  a  something  in  their  eyes, 


IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y.  i  ^ 

Which  tells  that  gloomy  darkness  lies 

Deep  in  their  hearts  :  "  O  husband  dear, 

I  tremble  with  my  fearful  fear  !" 

Her  pure  frank  eyes  are  bent  on  his — 

Sweet  sunbeams  in  a  sea  of  dawn — 

When  by  his  side  all  hours  were  bliss, 

When  parted,  life  'mid  clouds  dragg'd  on, 

"  Oh  !  have  no  fear  ! — hope,  hope  !"  he  said  ; 

"  Hope  that  we  meet  ere  moon  hath  fled  !" 

"  The  spring-flower  blooming  sweet  and  dear, 

Is  hope  without  one  sorrow  near, 

But  when  'tis  smote  by  chilling  frost, 

'Tis  blasted  hope  forever  lost !" 

She  quickly,  earnestly  replies, 

With  anxious  looks  and  plaintive  sighs. 

"  Th'  Union  I  go  to  help  restore  ! — 

And  O !  'tis  hard  to  leave  thee  for  the  war ! 

But  my  Country  calls,  and  go  I  must ! 

The  duty's  hard,  but  it  is  just ! 


i8  INTRODUCTORY. 

And  Kansas,  our  own  home  and  State, 

Is  threatened  with  Guerrilla  hate!" 

He  said,  and  kissed  her  rose  lips  dewed  with 

wine — 

The  wine  of  love  and  beauty  sweet — 
She  looked  so  fair  she  seem'd  divine — 
An  angel  strayed  from  near  God's  feet. 
He  long  caressed  her  with  a  sigh, 
Said  "  God  bless  you,  darling  wife,  good-by." 
Then  vaulting  on  his  steed  he  cried  : 
"  Farewell !"  and  then  away  did  ride. 
A  sweet  solitude  of  flowers  rare, 
Blushed  sweetly  in  the  valley  fair ; 
But  not  so  sweet  as  Ida  Vane, 
The  young  bride  whose  bright  hopes  did  wane. 
As  innocent  she  looked  to  be, 
There  blushing  'mid  the  woodland  bowers, 
As  fair  young  children  playfully 
Strewing  early  spring-time  flowers. 


INTRODUCTORY.  19 

So  fair,  so  young,  this  one-week  bride, 

Thus  soon  put  from  her  husband's  side — 

Like  early  dawn  upon  the  lake, 

She  rested  on  the  heart  of  God — 

She  knew  He  would  not  her  forsake 

Nor  her  Willie  who  'midst  dangers  trod — 

Afar  in  war's  dread  battles  wild, 

Where  death  exulted  in  his  power  ; 

She  had  a  woman's  love,  a  child 

In  years — but  fourteen  times  spring's  flower 

Had  bloom'd  since  first  she'd  breathed  the  air 

Of  a  world  of  sorrow  and  despair. 

"  Dear  God  i  from  Thy  high  home  above 

Bend  low  and  hear  me,  please ! 

Dear  God  !"  she  cried,  "  preserve  my  Love, 

In  war  where  death  's  in  every  breeze  ! 

Dear  God  !  I  pray  thee,  guard  mine  own 

Dear  Willie  while  away  from  me — 

Please  bring  him  back  ere  flowers  now  grown 


20  IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y. 

Have  faded  to  eternity  ! 

Dear  God,  where  Willie  e'er  doth  rove, 

I  ask  but  this,  O  God  ! — [she  on  her  knees] — 

Dear  God  !  from  Thy  high  home  above 

Bend  low  and  hear  me,  please  !" 

Thus  prayed  this  fair  wife,  innocent 

And  young — too  young  for  such  great  cares  ; 

And  yet,  midst  all  the  worst,  low  bent, 

God  hears  and  heeds  such  earnest  prayers. 

A  bay-flower  glowed  in  beauty  fair 

From  out  the  midnight  of  her  hair — 

The  wine  of  beauty  in  her  face, 

Within  her  eye  the  wine  of  love — 

The  wine  of  all  we  love  to  trace 

In  woman — virtues  from  above — 

Was  hers,  the  lovely  Ida  Vane's, 

One  week  ago  fair  Ida  Bell, 

But  William  Vane  her  heart  obtains — 

The  fairest  girl  in  all  the  dell : 


IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y.  21 

Her  bosom  glowed  with  love  as  bright, 
As  light  of  stars  a  cloudless  night — 
And  like  those  sweet  immortal  flowers, 
True  woman's  love  grows  on  sublime — 
Like  them  it  soars  o'er  mortal  hours — 
It  lives  beyond  the  bounds  of  time  ! 
Unto  the  young  wife,  through  her  near 
And  heavy,  sorrowing,  sickening  fear, 
All  is  lost  'though  beautiful  nature  here. 
Lo  !  see  yon  lucid  lake — -so  clear  ! — 
Where  lilies  with  their  satin-stars 
Wave  sweetly  in  the  breezes  here, 
With  snowy  beauty,  nothing  mars  ! 
Near  by  the  gold-eyed  king-cup  glows, 
With  purple  clover  and  red  rose, 
Where  flower-cradled,  golden  bees, 
Sway  to  and  fro  unto  the  breeze, 
With  arrowy  sweep  a  river  glides 
'Twixt  hills,  then  flows  on  dreamily, 


2  2  IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y. 

Where  beauteous  fish  flash  sparkling  sides, 
There  sporting  in  the  waters  free. 
The  vales  where  doth  God's  grace  appear, 
The  sylvan  wilds — hills,  forests  here, 
Invite  the  wanderer  to  draw  near — 
Voices  of  mysterious  beauty  breathe 
Adown  the  lonely  lovely  vale  !-— 
'Twould  seem  that  unseen  angels  wreathe 
A  crown  of  glory  in  the  dale, 
For  some  good  being  of  this  world, 
And  whisper  of  the  boon  impearled  ! 
Here  countless  fragrant  flame-like  flowers 
In  beauty  bloom  'round  wildwood  bowers- 
Here  birds  of  beauty  breast  the  breeze, 
And  hide  amid  the  leafy  trees, 
And  sing  a  lovely  madrigal, 
While  each  dear  little  heart  is  full. 
The  music  of  sweet,  hidden  hours, 
The  poesy  of  fairest  flowers, 


IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y.  23 

Were    here  —  sweet    breathing    through    the 

bowers — 

Too,  the  Silences  their  Sabbath  keep, 
Far,  far  within  the  forest  deep. 
As  blushing  to  her  bridal  bed 
The  young  bride  walks  in  beauty  fair. 
With  modest  fears  that  she  is  wed 
Yet  joyous,  for  her  heart  is  there — 
Glides  day's  lingering  sweet  twilight 
Into  the  chamber  of  the  night. 


CANT  ^   II. 


QUANTRELL'S  EARLY  HOME. 

HE  mansion  of  the  Hildcbrand, 
The  fairest  of  Ohio's  land, 
Is  glowing  freely  in  the  night 
From  a  thousand  brilliants  bright  ! — 
A  thousand  chandeliers  illume 
The  mystic  shadows  of  the  gloom  ; 
And  out  the  moon — out  stars  are  all — 
To  help  make  glad  the  festival ; 
Bright  banners  float  upon  the  walls, 
And  happy  faces  throng  the  halls — 
And  sparkling  wines  flow  free  as  water; 
And  every  neighboring  son  and  daughter 

Adds  to  the  mirth  that  ripples  here, 
[24] 


QUANTRELDS    EARLY    HOME.     25 

Where  silence  reigned  for  many  a  year. 

The  tables  in  the  banquet  hall 

Are  spread,  and  dancers  to  the  call 

Are  lightly  tripping  to  the  lutes 

Pianos,  violins  and  flutes — 

All  is  wild  wassail  and  good  cheer — 

They  quaff  red  wine  and  foaming  beer. 

Long  years  agone  Hugh  Hildebrand 

Had  left  his  home  and  natal  land, 

To  spend  the  wealth  at  his  command : 

The  envious  whispered,  young  and  old, 

Abroad  he  'd  been  an  outlaw  bold — 

In  foreign  lands,  in  years  since  fled 

And  vanished  with  the  other  dead. 

But  where  he'd  been,  what  done,  how  well, 

It  boots  not  to  this  rhyme  to  tell — 

Suffice  he'd  kept  his  promise  given 

Unto  a  sister  saint  in  Heaven. 

That  he  'd  return  from  foreign  joys 


26     QUANTRELES    EARLY    HOME. 

To  watch  and  guard  her  orphan  boys — 

Charles  and  Paul,  she  loved  so  well, 

An  invalid,  their  sire,  Quantrell  : 

Suffice  that  too  he  homeward  came 

His  lovely  cousin's  hand  to  claim — 

The  beauteous,  ra'diant  Rosalie, 

Fairer  than  brightest  star  we  see, 

Sweet  as  the  scent  of  summer  rose 

When  showers  its  fairest  charms  disclose — 

As  perfect  as  the  angels  be 

Which  work  to  lessen  misery, 

As  gentle  as  the  rays  of  love 

That  light  alcoves  of  Heaven  above — 

In  all,  so  sweet,  so  good,  so  fair, 

She  seems  of  neither  earth  nor  air, 

But  something  far  too  good  to  be, 

Aught  save  those  stainless  saints  we  'd  see 

Could  we  but  roam  that  world  so  high, 

Beyond  the  borders  of  the  sky. 


QUANTRELDS    EARLY    HOME.     27 

She,  this  earth-sprite  's  happy  now, 

With  rosy  cheek  and  snowy  brow  : 

Oh,  she  enjoys  her  hours  of  glee, 

For  happy,  blithe  and  joyed  is  she 

As  poet — singing  unto  those 

Living  in  a  world  of  prose — 

Bright  sees  the  magic  of  his  powers 

In  weeds  transformed  to  fairest  flowers ! 

'Tis  the  fair  one's  happy  wedding  night, 

And  each  and  every  winsome  wight 

Is  blithe  and  gay,  and  feels  the  cheer — 

Feels  that  both  life  and  love  are  dear. 

Each  aged  servant  shares  the  bliss, 

The  master's  joys  are  hers  and  his  ; 

With  ardor  like  in  Eastern  land, 

Both  Rosalie  and  Hildebrand 

They  loved  with  love's  mysterious  power — 

As  odors  of  the  fragrant  flower 

Attract  us  till  their  petals  blow 


28     QUANTRELDS    EARLY    HOME. 

In  close  communion  with  us:  know 
Ye  that  the  flower's  perfume  is  love 
Escaped  from  the  heart's  o'erfilled  alcove  ! 
To  be  imbibed  by  saintliest  thing 
Save  true  hearts  with  it  o'erflowing  ! 
The  past  seemed  living  as  of  yore, 
When  Hildebrand  the  elder,  bore 
The  name  of  being  free  from  care, 
And  perfectly  happy,  which  is  rare — 
He  masked  his  heart  from  them,  I  'd  swear. 
With  all  the  wealth  that  heart  can  crave, 
And  generous  to  a  fault,  he  gave 
And  squandered  like  a  prince  of  old — 
His  heart  too  warm  to  e'er  grow  cold. 
Night  in  and  out  his  halls  he  'd  fill 
With  friends  from  many  a  vale  and  hill, 
Till  every  marble  hall  would  be 
Resounding  to  the  revelry. 
Thus  he  lived  his  life  away 


QUANTRELUS    EARLY    HOME.      29 

In  dissipation  mad  and  gay, 

Till  death  low  laid  him  in  his  tomb, 

When  silence  did  his  mansion  gloom, 

And  bats  and  spiders  lined  the  walls, 

And  phantoms  walked  his  silent  halls. 

Night  waxed  and  waned,  and  Morning  fair, 

A  maid  of  beauty,  loosed  her  hair 

Ere  all  the  guests  had  left  the  scene, 

Where  dance  and  song  and  wine,  I  ween, 

Were  plenty. — Thus  and  thus  again, 

Like  his  mad  sire,  the  son  insane 

Pursued  this  wild  destructive  course, 

Which  had  its  end  in  time  perforce. 

His  Rosalie,  a  flower  too  frail 

For  earth,  now  bloomed  in  Heaven's  sweet  vale, 

Where  God  did  place  her  to  earth's  cost 

Ere  the  life-spark  of  her  soul  was  lost — 

This  the  cause  that  Hugh  so  reckless  went 

The  course  his  sire  had  madly  bent. 


30      QUANTRELDS    EARLY    HOME. 

Hugh  hung  a  garland  of  love  and  flowers 

Over  her  grave  so  sad  and  lone — 

He  wept  for  her  and  the  happy  hours 

That  beyond  the  silent  stars  had  flown. 

Fortune  wrecked,  Hildebrand  thought  best, 

With  his  two  nephews,  to  go  West, 

And  their  sire,  who  this  wish  expressed — 

To  take  another  name  and  try 

To  work  once  more  to  fortune  high. 

His  nephews  both — the  Quantrell  twins — 

Charles  and  Paul,  well  knew  his  sins — 

Well  knew  his  woes,  and  pitied  well 

He  who  from  Heaven  had  plunged  to  Hell. 


CANTO   III. 

LULU    EARL. 

O  !  yonder  comes  the  sylph  of  morn — 
A  maiden  young,  sweet,  wondrous 

fair; 

Tis  Lulu  Earl,  whose  charms  adorn 
The  wilds,  and  breathe  a  glory  everywhere — 
An  unkissed  virgin,  fair  and  dear, 
Whose  knowledge  of  earth's  sin  confess'd, 
Was  nothing — for  her  soul  was  clear 
As  young  babe  on  its  mother's  breast. 
The  radiant  angels  breathed  her  name, 
For  e'en  in  Heaven  they  felt  the  flame 
Her  soul  sent  outward  everywhere  ; 

She  was  so  fair  that  if  man  glanced 

[31] 


32  LULU    EARL. 

Upon  her  he  would  be  entranced, 

And  covet  her  for  his  sweet  bride — 

And  who  could  blame  him ! — who  could  chide 

The  wish  to  own  the  flower  of  Heaven, 

God  loaned  at  morn  to  take  ere  even  ? 

And  there  was  cause  too  for  alarm  ! — 

From  human  vipers  which  earth  swarm — 

If  God  in  vain  shields  with  His  arm. 

The  lily  roundness  of  her  arm, 

The  tempting  beauty  of  her  form 

And  face  might  bring  this  fair  one  harm — 

For  many  are  less  good  than  warm. 

Far,  far  within  the  hidden  vale 

Where  she  knew  nothing  save  the  good, 

There  is  on  earth  no  nobler  tale 

Than  her  life  and  those  in  that  wildwood, 

Where  her,  fair  Lulu's,  presence  gave 

A  happiness  most  only  dream 

This  cheerless  side  of  the  still  grave — 


LULU    EARL. 


33 


She  was  God's  chosen  Heaven-sent  beam- 
She  was  the  poet's  ideal  maid, 
Who  comes  like  moon  from  midnight  shade, 

O  7 

Who  makes  bright  even  dark  despair— 

O  God  !  Thou  knowest  she  was  fair ! 

In  her  sweet  home — a  forest  bower — 

She  blushed,  the  wildwood's  loveliest  flower. 

God  secretes  in  places  lone  and  still 

The  rarest  products  of  His  will ; 

For  contact  with  the  world  disarms 

His  fairest  flowers  of  half  their  charms. 

A  storm  howls  like  a  fiend  in  pain  ; 
In  swaying  fury  falls  the  rain  ; 
Around  spreads  out  the  forest  black : 
Above  extends  the  roaring  wrack — 
And  oft  deep  voices  muttering  call, 
As  through  Plutonian  darkness  fall 

The  voices  of  the  damn'd  and  lost, 
3 


34  LULU    EARL. 

Whose  crimes  the  love  of  God  hath  cost! 

Who  wander  boundless  deeps  of  Hell, 

Plunged  in  vast  wastes  of  darkness  fell. 

The  hills  unloose  their  shadows  vast, 

Which  wander  down  the  angry  blast. 

A  sound — as  when  God's  voice  doth  sweep 

Through  space's  vast  and  awful  deep 

In  mighty  thunder,  whose  great  voice  awes 

The  Powers  He  tells  t*  obey  His  laws — 

Now  bellows,  thundering  loud  and  far — 

Heard  by  Peri  on  remotest  star; 

All  objects  by  the  storm  are  hurl'd 

As  though  an  earthquake  shakes  the  world. 

Through   swaying  trees,  o'er  crushed    flower, 

thyme, 

Upon  a  steed  as  black  as  crime, 
A  horseman  lone  pursues  his  way, 
Hoping  that  some  shelter  may 
Be  found  : — lo  !  the  lightning's  glare 


LULU    EARL.  35 

Shows  him  a  cottage  closed  with  care. 

"  Thank  God  !"   he  said — "  Heaven    must   be 

near, 

Though  Hell's  abroad;  it  would  appear, 
For  demons  of  most  fearful  fright 
Seem'd  galloping  around  this  night, 
Until  this  cottage  fair  and  bright 
Seems  to  have  vanished  ghouls  of  night," 
He  said.     "  Had  I  shelter  for  my  head, 
Methinks  I  would  not  ask  a  bed.i; 
The  lightning  danced  before  his  eyes, 
And  seemed  to  picture  Paradise  ! — 
As,  drunken  with  a  Heavenly  wine, 
He  fancied  things  that  seemed  divine  ! 
A  form  of  flame — a  spirit  form — 
Flashing  through  the  rolling  storm, 
Called  to  him  from  a  cloud  of  fire, 
Then  vanished  in  the  empyrean  higher! 
"  Methinks  a  fever  racks  my  brain 


36  LULU    EARL. 

Or  else  I  soon  will  be  insane  ! 

For  on  this  night,  when  Hell's  abroad, 

I've  seen  an  angel  sent  by  God  !" 

Lo  !  yonder  comes  the  gray-eyed  Dawn, 

And  shadows  dank  float  to  the  woods — 

The  genii  of  the  storm  has  gone, 

And  sought  the  deepest  solitudes. 

Weary,  hungry,  wet  all  o'er 

The  storm-benighted  traveler  drew 

His  reins  before  the  cottage  door, 

And  loudly  cried  "  Halloo  !  halloo  !" 

He  hears  door-bolts  fly  back,  and  now 

Sees  a  fine  face  and  massive  brow 

Protrude.     "  Good  sir  !  I  shelter  seek; 

The  storm  last  night  has  left  me  weak 

And  hungry  too/'    "  Dismount,  good  sir! 

The  best  we  have  with  you  we'll  share!" 

The  stranger-guest  was  soon  abed, 

Asleep  and  resting  ;  'neath  a  shed 


LULU    EARL.  37 

His  steed — for  Earl  was  good,  and  sought 
To  live  as  Christ  his  soul  had  taught ; 
And  all  who  ever  chanced  that  way 
Bless'd  Earl  and  family,  and  the  day 
That  chanced  to  cast  them  in  the  wood 
Where  they  lived  as  Christians  should. 
The  day-god,  in  his  golden  car, 
Had  driven  down  the  skies  full  far, 
When  he,  the  stranger-guest,  arose, 
Donned  his  late  wet,  now  fire-dried,  clothes, 
And,  looking  from  his  window,  starts 
At  sight  of  one  who  deftly  parts 
The  vines  of  honeysuckles  sweet, 
As  on  she  glides  on  music  feet, 
Like  some  fair  sylph,  whose  home  is  far 
In  fragrant  valley  of  a  star. 
A  fair  enchantress  sweet  she  seemed, 
Or  those  that  saw  when  waked  still  dreamed— 
For  where  she  stepped,  unto  the  view, 


38  LULU    EARL. 

Sprang  flowers  early,  sweet  and  new ! 

And  bloomed  more  beautiful  and  fair 

Than  rarest  flowers  on  earth  elsewhere. 

The  blood-red  blush  of  her  ripe  mouth, 

Whereon  the  grace  of  beauty  dewed, 

Like  scarlet  rose  blown  from  the  south 

Looked,  to  the  eye  of  him  that  viewed. 

Oh,  quaff  the  nectar  of  her  lips! 

Oh,  drink  the  glory  of  her  eyes  ! 

Oh,  young,  fresh,  beautiful,  she  sips 

The  beauty  out  of  Paradise. 

How  fair! — but    oh,  she's  vanished   from  his 

sight, 

The  day  so  sweet  has  yielded  unto  night. 
Scarce  the  stranger-guest  his  fast  had  broke 
When  the  maiden's  voice  the  welkin  woke' 
Joy !  the  music  of  her  step  he  hears ! 
The  silken  sound  of  her  approach  ! — 
How  ecstatic  to  his  ravished  ears, 


LULU    EARL. 

Her  coming  words  can  never  broach. 
She  comes,  a  sweet  gift  from  above — 
The  beauteous  Morning  Star  of  Love! 
Though,  could  he  tell  as  many  times 
As  there  are  flaming  stars  in  heaven 
His  thoughts  of  her  in  poet's  rhymes, 
Not  half  of  all  his  love  were  given. 
She  comes  !  that  gushing  glory  glides 
T'ward  him,  and  near  him  now  abides. 
The  wanton  wind  has  opened  rude 
Her  dress,  and  laid  her  bosom  nude, 
Unknown  to  her,  for  she  was  pure, 
And  could  not  such  a  thing  endure. 
"  Good  morning  !     My  name,  stranger  fair, 
Is  Quantrell ! — for  yours  ask  could  I  dare  ?" 
Said  he,  the  guest.     She  blushed  :  her  hair 
Vailed  much  of  her  sweet,  radiant  face, 
Tossed  by  the  breeze  that  still  kept  pace 
Full  well.     "  O  yes  !  good  sir  !  mine  is  Earl, 


39 


40  LULU    EARL. 

Lulu  Earl.      I  trust  you  will  regain 

Your  strength  lost  in  the  storm  and  rain. 

Our  home  is  small,  but  you  are  free 

To  all  its  space,  so  easy  be." 

How  fair  !  how  sweet  !  how  strangely  dear  ! 

With  love's  blush  mantling  on  her  cheek, 

Is  she,  the  gold-haired  maid,  that  here 

Stands  trembling  with  a  joy  unspeak. 

That  mystery  of  the  soul  call'd  love   glow'd 

bright : 

'Twas  instant  love — 'twas  love  at  sight. 
Lulu  loved  the  stranger,  on  her  part, 
With  all  the  virgin-passion  of  her  heart. 
He  loved  her  more  than  he  had  dreamed 
That  he  could  love — so  beautifully  she  beamed 
On  him — her  Heavenly  hazel  eyes 
Broke  on  him  such  a  sweet  surprise, 
He  felt  as  though  some  Unknown  Power 
Had  placed  him  in  a  Heavenly  bower, 


LULU    EARL.  41 

Where  everything  far  fairer  beamed 
Than  he  before  had  ever  dreamed. 
Through  long  exposure  Quantrell  knew 
He  needed  rest — and  it  is  true 
The  lovely  Lulu  cast  a  spell 
Upon  him  that  he  knew  full  well 
Held  him,  charmed  him  to  the  spot, 
That  he  long  lingered  in  the  grot — 
While  lovely,  loving  Lulu  fair, 
Attended  to  his  wants  with  care. 
When  they  did  part  to  them  'twas  known 
That  each  the  other's  heart  did  own, 
With  kisses  which  alone  love  knows, 
When  the  very  soul  o'erflows, 
And  with  embraces  warm  and  sweet, 
As  when  o'er  clouds  two  angels  greet, 
They  parted  with  love's  deepest  vows, 
To  meet  to  marry  'neath  the  boughs 
Of  her  sire's  whispering  forest  trees, 


42  LULU    EARL. 

Where  the  sweetly  breathing  breeze 
Seemed  to  be  a  breath  from  Heaven, 
Which  God  to  earth  had  kindly  given. 


CANTO     IV. 


QUANTRELL'S  SOLILOQUY. 

O  !  yonder  is  the  king  of  day 
Peeping  o'er  the  forest  gray! 
Through  camp  the  echoing  noises 


gay, 

Sound  as  if  a  gala  day. 
The  soldiers  sing  the  songs  they  know- 
Some  are  coarse  and  vile  and  low, 
Some  sweet  and  beautifully  flow  ; 
Each  more  sweet  and  tender  grows, 
For  here  and  there  love's  rebecks  rose. 
It  is  the  camp  of  Jennison, 
And  his  men  are  full  of  fun 


And  liquor — for  the  leader  thought 


[43] 


44        QUANTRELVS    SOLILOQUY. 

Those  that  drank  most  the  better  fought. 
Lo  !  who  are  those  two  men  we  trace 
There  conversing  face  to  face? 
'Tis  Jennison  and  him  we  've  seen 
Out  in  the  storm  and  in  the  green 
And  lovely  vale — "  Now,  while  away, 
I  found  a  spot  more  fair  than  day ; 
And  made  such  friends  I  ask  your  aid 
That  no  one  harms  them  in  the  raid. 
Since  I  have  e'er  been  to  you  true 
This  one  request  I  make  of  you — 
Avoid  this  valley  ;  change  your  route, 
And  I  will  be  your  faithful  scout 
As  I  have  been  your  trusted  spy  !" 
"  Impossible,  e'en  though  I  try ! 
For  my  wild  clan  will  me  defy. 
My  wounds  will  keep  me  here  for  days — 
My  clan  have  money  sworn  to  raise — 
They  know  the  land  where  you  have  been 


Q  UANTRELDS    SOLILOQ  UY.        45 

The  richest  all  the  country  in. 
Since  I  'm  wounded,  sick  and  sore, 
Either  you  must  lead,  or  Moore. 
Since  you  decline  my  place  to  touch, 
Because  my  men  have  drank  too  much, 
As  leader,  Moore  must  act  as  such. 
Although  I  'd  like  your  wish  to  grant 
I  'm  very  much  afraid  I  can't ! 
Though  I  promise  you  that  Moore 
Will  see  none  harms  those  you  adore!" 
Though  Quantrell  show'd  not  one  alarm, 
He  resolved  to  warn  his  friends  of  harm — 
So  from  the  camp  he  swiftly  flies 
On  the  first  steed  that  met  his  eyes. 

*  *  •*  *  * 

"  They  come  !  they  come  !"  said  Quantrell  low 
To  all  his  friends — while  foes  draw  near — 
Besides  th'  Earls — besides  her  loved  so, 
Were  uncle,  father,  brother  dear. 


46         QUANTRELDS    SOLILOQUY. 

The  foe  come  OP  with  yell  and  cry, 

But  many  of  the  foremost  die. 

With  doors  and  windows  bolted,  barred, 

In  Earl's  house  the  defenders  warred. 

Here  Hildebrand  displays  a  might 

In  marksmanship  that  proves  his  right 

As  tutor  of  his  nephews — they 

E'er  as  true  an  aim  display. 

Their  foes  still  pour  from  out  the  woods, 

Fierce  demons  from  the  solitudes! 

Now  back,  that  wild  and  hellish  horde 

Seek  shelter  which  the  woods  afford, 

To  wait  a  spell,  for  night  is  near, 

When  they  '11  attack  with  less  of  fear. 

Lo  !  yonder  in  her  pale  career, 

The  moon  wheels  by  each  tarrying  sphere- 

And  yonder  from  the  umbrage  shade, 

Which  the  oak  majestic  made, 

A  form  unseen,  save  by  that  Eye 


QUANTRELVS    SOLILOQUY.        47 

That  sweeps  all  space  below,  on  high, 

Creeps   through   the     high    and    thick-grown 

grass, 

As  a  serpent  oft  will  pass, 
And  lo  !  a  flame  leaps  toward  the  sky  ! 
The  door  opes  and  the  inmates  fly ! 
On — on  they  fly — and  while  they  do 
Countless  rifle-balls  pursue — 
And  while  they  fly  from  the  murderous  lot 
Back  each  man  oft  sends  a  vengeful  shot. 

***** 
Morn  dawns  !  but  oh,  an  awful  morn, 
Within  the  vale  of  Avadore, 
Where  Lulu  Earl  was  happy  born, 
And  Hved  where  all  was  peace  before 
The  hour  that  brought  the  murderous  band 
To  rob  and  slay  on  every  hand. 
That  band  had  vanish'd  with  the  night, 
Like  devils,  fearful  of  the  light, 


48         QUANTRELDS    SOLILOQUY. 

But  left  behind  a  woeful  sight. 

Though  their  own  wounded  and  their  dead 

They  took  with  them  when  they  fled, 

Here  four  on  farm  of  Earl  are  dead, 

And  here  two  others  freely  bled — 

And  one  was  very  fair — 

And  one  stood  o'er  her  in  despair — 

For  the  fair  girl  on  the  ground 

Lay  bleeding  from  a  cruel  wound. 

'Twas  Lulu  Earl  who  lay  so  weak, 

'Twas  Quantrell  stood,  too  full  to  speak. 

For  the  one  he  loved  so  well 

Was  dying  from  her  wound  so  fell. 

Oh,  where's  a  hell  sufficient  hot 

For  him  that  crushes  down  the  good  ? 

The  good  that  die  in  many  a  spot 

In  the  dawn  of  man  and  womanhood ! 

"  Dear  Lulu  !  Darling  of  my  life, 

My  heart  is  broken  in  the  strife, 


QUANTRELDS    SOLILOQUY.        49 

An  I  with  thy  pain,  my  soul,  mine  own  !" 

"  Dear  Charles  !  I'll  leave  you  soon  alone  ! 

I  soon  shall  go,  but  have  no  fear — 

Now  opened  is  my  spirit  ear ! 

List  !  I  hear  the  music-footed  Hours 

In  endless  silence  onward  go, 

And  close  beside  the  sylvan  bowers, 

I  hear  the  lovely  flowers  grow  ; 

I  hear  the  '  music  of  the  spheres,' 

I  hear  the  angels  singing  now, 

Above  the  sky,  where  Christ  appears 

With  pity  written  on  His  brow  !" 

Low  Quantrell  sank  upon  his  knee, 

All  heedless  of  his  own  wounds  sore, 

And  kiss'd  the  lips  he  could  not  see 

For  tears  that  from  his  eyes  do  pour, 

"  Kiss  me,  dear  Charles  !  a  farewell  kiss!" 

She  smiles,  as  slowly  to  the  bliss 

Of  Heaven  she  goes — she  does  not  groan — 


50         QUANTRELVS    SOLILOQUY. 

She  smiles  in  death,  and  makes  no  moan  ; 

Like  soft  decline  of  summer  day 

She  sweetly  passed  to  God  away. 

As  morning  mist  floats  from  the  sod 

Rose  her  spirit  past  the  stars  to  God. 

All  that  in  life's  most  wondrous  fair, 

In  death  none  with  her  could  compare  ! 

"  This  deep,  dread  silence  !  is  it  death?" 

Thought  Quantrell,  with  a  painful  breath. 

"  Oh,  wake  !  and  feel  the  breathing  morn — 

Oh,  wake  my  loved  one,  wake,  dear  heart ! 

Didst  thou  not  tell  me,  angel-born, 

That  nevermpre  we  'd  part  ? 

She  wakes  not !     God  !  can  this  be  death  ?" 

Close  to  her  heart  he  placed  his  head 

And  listened,  holding  fast  his  breath — 

Long  listened — then  cried  :  "  My  soul  is  dead  ! 

O  Christ,  where  art  Thou  now!"  he  cried — 

"  O  God,  why  didst  Thou  take  her  frorp  me  ? 


QUANTRELDS    SOLILOQUY.        51 

Why  hast  Thou  me  time's  joy  denied 

When  she's  Thine  through  all  eternity?" 

As  funeral  bells  wail  for  the  good 

That  die  in  youth,  before  the  dawn 

Of  manhood  and  of  womanhood, 

So  mourned  Quantrell  o'er  his  Lulu  gone. 

"  All  gone  !     My  Lulu  gone  !     Great  God  ! 

Is  it  thus  I  feel  Thy  chast'ning  rod  ? 

My  father,  uncle — my  Lulu's  mother! 

And  my  beloved  and  only  brother  ! 

He  with  whom  I  oft  have  roved, 

WThom  I  loved — aye  !  more  than  loved — 

Lies  stark  !  his  generous  spirit  fled, 

Alas  !  alas  !  is  dead,  is  dead  ! 

Oh,  was  he  not  myself  almost, 

When  born  with  me  the  self-same  day  ! 

Methinks  I  hear  his  pensive  ghost, 

That  doth  to  me  for  vengeance  pray  ; 

As  there  he  lies  he  so  like  me 


52         QUANTRELVS    SOLILOQUY. 

Doth  look,  in  every  feature  free, 

Did  I  not  know  I  live  through  pain 

I  'd  swear  my  very  self  were  slain  ! 

All,  all  are  gone  save  me  forlorn — 

Why  was  I  left  ?  was  it  to  mourn  ?" 

"  No  !"     "  What  voice  is  that  I  hear?" 

"  To  avenge  the  dead  you're  left — 

The  dead  that  to  you  are  so  dear, 

Of  whom  so  ruthlessly  you  were  bereft !" 

When  that  voice  died  upon  his  ear, 

As  "  One  crying  in  the  wilderness," 

Cried  Quantrell,  "  It  is  well !  I  hear  ! 

I  shall  avenge  you  !  ease  your  wild  distress  ! 

Hear  me,  high  Heaven  !  O  God,  me  hear ! 

And  ye  !  my  friends  in  spirit  near, 

I  shall  avenge  each,  all  of  you, 

And  make  your  murderers  bitter  rue 

The  hour  they  wrought  this  fearful  woe, 

In  the  blood  that  through  their  vitals  flow ! 


QUANTRJELrS    SOLILOQUY.        53 

This  tribute  to  your  memory — 

To  the  golden  past  so  sweet  to  me — 

From  this  time  forth  I  well  shall  pay, 

From  morn  till  night,  from  night  till  morn  I'll 

slay ! 

Five  thousand  men  brought  on  my  woes — 
Five  thousand  men  make  up  my  foes — 
I  know  them  all — each,  every  one — 
And  none  shall  my  just  vengeance  shun  ! 
Five  thousand  men  shall  feel  my  power, 
Shall  'neath  my  hand  of  vengeance  cower !" 


CANTO    V. 


QUANTRELL   AND    JENNISON. 

IS  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-two  — 
The  north  winds  pierce   the  deep 

hills  through  ; 
'Tis  September,  and  the  leaves  are  browned 
That  fly  the  breeze,  that  cover  ground, 
That  droop  upon  the  trees  around. 
The  Missouri  river  waters  flow, 
Swollen  in  their  channel  go. 
A  hundred  mounted  men  or  more, 
Armed  to  the  teeth,  are  on  the  shore. 
A  moving  arsenal  each  seeming, 
From  the  many  weapons  gleaming 
From  belts  and  boot-legs  —  from  the  side  — 

[54] 


QUANTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON.     55 

Bristling  as  they  onward  ride. 

All  sudden  south  their  way  they  take — 

All  sudden  swifter  progress  make ! 

Till  to  farm  of  Harris  they  have  come 

To  take  the  products  of  his  home. 

To  get  by  right  of  might  a  share 

Of  the  rich  farmer's  bounteous  fare. 

At  the  head  of  the  company 

The  leader  rides,  and  marked  is  he 

Above  the  vulgar  herd  of  men — 

Above  the  herd  pent  in  the  pen 

Of  common  thoughts  and  things  and  ways, 

Where  one  day  shows  the  life  of  days — 

The   now   repeats   the   past,   tells   what 's    to 

come, 

As  footsteps  sound  continual  hum. 
'Though  small  of  build,  one  understands 
From  looks,  that  he  alone  commands. 
His  air  and  aspect  this  confess 


56     QUANTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON. 

In  language  better  than  words  express. 

His  eyes  are  blue,  the  deepest  blue, 

Almost  black  they  sometimes  grew — 

'Twas  when  of  wrongs  their  owner  thought, 

Of  which  the  bitter  past  was  fraught. 

He  was  not  handsome,  yet  his  face 

Express'd  a  strong,  strange,  winning  grace  ; 

His  form  was  sinewy,  strong  'though  spare — 

Wronged,  he  was  a  roused  lion  from  his  lair. 

The  flag,  born  by  a  war-scarr'd  son, 

Tells  unto  each  and  every  one 

The  chieftain's  name — with  black  background, 

The  name  of  "  Quantrel!,"  dreaded  round. 

His  hat — each  bold,  wild  follower's  too — 

Toss'd  high  a  plume  of  raven  hue. 

His  fierce  men  no  allegiance  knew 

Save  to  him  who  had  ta'en  them  through 

All  kinds  of  dangers,  wild  and  dread, 

And  yet  did  save  them  from  the  dead. 


QUANTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON.     57 

All  quailed  beneath  his  er.gle  eye, 

All  him  obeyed,  and  asked  not  why. 

They  looked  upon  him  as  a  sage, 

The  mighty  Nestor  of  his  age. 

They  looked  to  him  as  to  a  god 

Who  held  o'er  earth  a  magic  rod — 

A  potent  wizard  power,  that  wrought 

Great  wonders — with  a  mystery  fraught. 

With  things  mysterious  wise  he'd  grown — 

Of  the  bright  stars  he'd  learned  man's  fate — 

Beyond  earth's  confines  the  unknown 

He  knew,  but  dared  not  to  relate. 

As  Napoleon  cross'd  the  Lodi  o'er, 

With  followers  that  feared  at  first, 

So  Quantrell  led  the  way — before 

He    went — his     men     following     'gainst    the 

worst — 
It  booted  not  the  odds  how  great, 

They  trusted  all  to  him  and  fate. 
3* 


$3     QUANTRELL    AND    JENNISON. 

He  seem'd  as  cool  in  battle's  roar 

As  though  he  walk'd  the  calm  sea  shore, 

And  though  war's  missiles  fell  like  rain, 

He  ever  passed  above  the  slain. 

Hence  many  thought  some  Unseen  Power 

Protected  him  each  woeful  hour. 

Be  as  it  may,  it  seems  that  fear 

Had  never  whispered  in  his  ear. 

He  lived  aloof,  what  vengeance  made, 

A  daring  Northern  renegade. 

He  cared  not  for  the  Southern  Cause, 

He  cared  not  for  man's  puny  laws, 

He  fought  for  vengeance,  and  his  foes 

Fought  'neath  the  Union  flag.     His  woes 

Were  great,  for  all  he  loved  had  gone 

To  that  strange  bourne  where  phantoms  wan 

Hold  mystic  rites — life's  secrets  learn, 

For  which  all  truly  great  souls  yearn. 

Aye!  those  he  loved  with  all  his  heart, 


QUANTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON.     59 

With  all  his  soul,  in  their  blood  fell 

By  Jennison  and  clan — the  cruel  smart 

In  his  breast  rankles  like  a  hell. 

Once,  in  Jennison's  command, 

He  rose  above  the  ranks,  soon  earned. 

Because  the  leader  of  the  band 

Saw   Quantrell   knew  more  than  he  e'er  had 

learned 

Of  war's  black  art — yet  did  betray 
The  greatest  trust  that  cheers  life's  day. 
Those  he  promised  to  protect  he  slew, 
Would  number  Quantrell  with  the  dead, 
But  fate  decreed  through  him  should  rue 
His  foes  that  they  his  dear   ones'  blood  had 

shed. 

Yet  Quantrell,  with  a  conscience  keen, 
Knew  if  he  could  he'd  rather  been 
A  soldier  on  the  Northern  side, 
But  fate  and  vengeance  this  denied. 


60     QUANTRELL    AND      JEN N I  SON. 

All  through  the  war  his  thoughts  upbraid 
That  he  lived  on  a  renegade — 
As  when,  by  God  from  home  and  Heaven 
Ambitious  Satan,  distant  driven, 
Far  on  solitary  went, 
And  far  through  space  his  journey  bent, 
With  thoughts  full  bitter  with  defeat, 
And  a  remorse  pride  could  not  cheat, 
That  he  had  with  his  Father  warr'd, 
And  with  his  brother,  Christ,  our  Lord  — 
Though  swift  through  dread  immensity 
He  flies  the  boundless,  bottomless  sea- 
Passing  o'er  frozen,  o'er  fiery  worlds, 
Past  burning  meteor  as  it  hurls — 
Expecting  to  some  realm  obtain, 
Where  he  might  e'er  unrivaled  reign, 
Still  he  heart-sick  with  dark  thoughts  vain. 
'Though  Quantrell  thus  unhappy,  he 
Kept  hidden  all  his  misery — 


QUAFTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON.    61 

Provoked  to  vengeance,  his  loved  slain, 

A  Nemesis  he  roam'd  the  plain. 

Thus  hatred  overpowers  well 

All  other  passions,  like  a  hell. 

He  thought  with  feelings  dread,  aghast, 

Death  ravished  all  the  golden  past, 

Which  was  so  bright — too  bright  to  last ! 

One  panacea  alone  he  found, 

In  war's  dread  thunders  echoing  round  I 

"  Pool !  post  a  guard  on  yonder  hill, 

And  then  we  '11  try  and  get  our  fill 

From  this  old  farmer's  well-stocked  farm  !" 

The  guard  is  placed  to  watch  for  harm — 

They  hasten — enter  through  the  gate, 

Where  earth  seems  not  so  desolate 

As  most  spots  where  the  iron  feet 

Of  war  had  trampled  down  unmeet. 

The  farmer  came  unto  his  door 

And  hailed  them  as  a  friend  of  yore — 


62     QUANTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON. 

This  a  surprise,  and,  too,  a  foil, 

A  foe  each  thought  he  would  despoil. 

When  the  bold  chief  had  seen  the  man, 

And  closely  did  his  features  scan, 

And  with  him  talked,  he  knew  the  truth, 

That  Harris  was  a  friend,  forsooth. 

"  Dismount !"  the  mighty  chief  did  say, 

Which  to  the  word  all  did  obey. 

Beneath  the  farmer's  broad,  wide  roof, 

Which  knew  the  mingled  warp  and  woof 

Of  happier  days,  the  guerrillas  came, 

Ate  of  the  store  the  farmer's  dame 

Prepared,  assisted  by  her  daughter  fair, 

A  ripe  brunette  of  beauty  rare. 

Oh  !  she  was  wondrous,  passing  fair  ! 

And  she  was  happy — debonair — 

A  spirit  she  of  fancy  wild — 

A  dreamer  was  this  lovely  child. 

But  summers  seventeen  had  flown 


QUANTRELL    AND    JENNISON.    63 

Since  she  had  come,  one  of  God's  own  : 

She  'd  heard  the  golden  laugh  of  Flowers — 

Heard  step  of  silver-footed  Hours 

As  they  on  walked  the  mystic  heights 

Of  the  mornings,  noons  and  nights. 

Beneath  the  moon's  and  stars'  soft  light 

She  'd  heard  the  voices  of  the  night 

Go  sweetly  laughing  back  to  God, 

As  she,  the  child  of  nature,  trod 

The  forest  path  o'er  sand  and  sod. 

The  past  to  her  was  like  a  dream — 

The  present  hers — the  future's  beam 

She  knew  not — it  is  well,  I  trow, 

That  future  's  hard  and  full  of  woe. 

Alas  !  how  short  the  sight  of  man  ! 

The  vail  o'er  hours  to  come  none  scan — 

The  past  lives  o'er,  a  memory, 

The  future  a  sweet  flower  of  hope — 

The  present  is  a  flower  we  see — 


64     QUANTRELL    AND    JENNISON. 

Few  tend,  while  many  see  it  mope  ; 
Aye !  let  it  pass,  and  when  afar, 
Like  child  that  weeps  to  grasp  a  star, 
They  weep  for  years  they  threw  away. 
Time  God  doth  lend  man  that  he  may 
Rise  from  the  earth  in  higher  air, 
And  bloom  in  beauty  bright  and  fair! 
The  outlaws  all  enjoy  the  hours 
Spent  midst  wines  and  vines  and  flowers. 
Behold  the  ruby  wine  they  pass, 
It  flames  and  dances  in  the  glass  ! — 
Hark  to  the  song  that  John  McKeene 
Sings  to  guitar  the  young  girl  plays — 
By  nature  singing  his,  I  ween, 
In  song  a  talent  he  displays: 

"  Give  Heaven  the  good,  and  Hell  the  bad, 
Yield  me  the  lovely  and  the  fair, 


QUANTRELL    AND    JENNISON.     65 

For  though  my  heart  be  sick  and  sad, 
A  girl's  sweet  face  dispels  my  care. 
Drink  !  drink  the  rosy,  sparkling  wine 
To  woman,  lovely  and  divine. 

"  Oh  !  what's  the  poet's  lofty  wreath 

To  the  wreath  of  a  fair  maid's  arms, 
Encircling  you,  when  she  doth  breathe, 

Her  deep  love  gemm'd  by  all  her  charms! 
Then  drink  the  rosy,  sparkling  wine 
To  woman,  lovely  and  divine. 

"  Then  drain  the  foaming,  sparkling  glass 

To  her  who  brings  such  peace  and  bliss  ; 
Whose  tender  eyes  we  cannot  pass 

Without  we  long  to  woo  and  kiss. 
Drink  !  drink  the  rosy  sparkling  wine 
To  woman,  lovely  and  divine." 

When  he  had  closed,  fair  Annie's  eyes 
Sparkled  with  a  sweet  surprise. 


66     QUANTRELL    AND    J EN  N I  SON. 

The  singer  was  a  handsome  man  ; 

The  maiden  did  his  features  scan 

Till  she  found  his  eyes  on  her, 

Then  she  blushed  to  find  they  were. 

Her  heart  was  not  a  frozen  lake 

On  whose  cold  brink  fond  Cupid  stands, 

But  it  was  warm,  like  winds  that  wake 

In  June,  blown  from  the  Southern  lands  ; 

And  April  showers  of  affection  flowed 

From  her  summer  heart  of  tender  love, 

Through  her  soft  eyes  which  sweetly  glowed 

With  beauty  of  the  light  above. 

This  love  we  sometimes  see,  apart, 

Alone,  forever  glowing  fresh  and  new — 

A  flower  that  grows  from  God's  great  heart — 

A  love,  fair,  radiant,  sweet  and  true. 

***** 

Low  sinks  along  the  purple  hills, 
Which  shadow  vale  of  flower  and  rills, 


QUANTRELL    AND    JENNISON,     67 

And  gives  the  forest  black  and  dun 

The  aspect  of  a  thing  to  shun — 

That  its  dense  wilds  do  deep  afford 

The  stronghold  of  a  robber  horde — 

The  setting  sun,  and  softly  glances 

Farewell  to  earth  as  night  advances. 

Said  Quantrell,  when  he  and  men-at-arms 

Left  their  hospitable  friends.     "  If  harms 

Thy  foes  one  single  hair,  good  sir, 

Of  yours  or  your  good  folks,  I  swear 

To  make  them  rue  the  hour  they  came 

To  do  thee  wrong — so  sure  my  name 

Is  Quantrell.     Though  deemed  a  ghoul, 

God  knows  I  am  not  near  so  foul — 

Thought    wretch     on     earth,      astray      from 

Heaven, 

Who  lost  the  route  that  God  had  given — 
I  have  one  virtue  'midst  my  crimes — 
I  have  a  grateful  heart  all  times  ; 


68     QUANTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON. 

Who  my  dark  hours  tries  to  make  less 

Will  ever  find  me  in  distress 

A  friend — and  never  be  it  said 

When  needed  most  I  ever  fled, 

Though  foes  unnumbered  trod  him  down 

And  all  the  world  gave  him  a  frown. 

Though  warring  with  enemies  that  claim 

A  love  for  the  United  States, 

I've  naught  against  the  Union's  fame — 

A  victim  I  of  all  the  fates ! 

Ohio*  is  my  natal  home — 

Fate  forced  me  from  that  land  to  roam  ! 

A  twin — my  brother  slain,  and  all 

I  dearly  loved — their  ghosts  now  call 

For  vengeance  from  the  hills  and  vales — 

Hark  !  now  I  hear  their  mournful  wails  ! 

The  South  outlaws  me — doth  ignore — 

Because  I  will  not  spare  a  foe 

*  Canal  Dover,  Tuscarawas  Co.,  Ohio. 


QUANTRELL    AND    JENNISON.     69 

Of  those  who  brought  forevermore 
A  bitter  and  eternal  woe. 
Aside  from  those  who  wrought  my  woe 
In  mercy  I've  spared  many  a  foe. 
Well !  as  for  the  South  I've  no  love  at  all, 
The  Confederacy,  soon,  aye  !  soon  must  fall ! — 
I  stand  alone  ! — I'm  not  afraid  I— 
An  outlaw  and  a  renegade  !  " 
"  Farewell !"  he  said — each  man's  good-by 
Is  spoken  in  a  hand  toss'd  high. 
O'er  each  guerrilla's  head  defined 
His  black  plume  nodded  in  the  wind. 
They  hasten  on — their  friends'  kind  eyes 
Follow  them  along  the  skies. 
Lo  !  Luna  rises  soft  and  bright 
Above  the  battlements  of  night ! 
O'er  outlaw'd  loveliness  of  wilds 
Where  fairest  forest  flower  smiles, 
Lo!  see  upon  yon  great  hill's  height, 


70     QUANTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON. 

Beneath  the  floating  moon's  pale  light, 
The  guerrillas! — giant  ghosts  appear! 
Those  warlike  phantoms  mortals  fear  ! — 
Seen  but  a  moment  in  the  mist ! 
Then  pass  like  shades  the  sun  hath  kiss'd. 

*  *  *  *  * 

The  soft  round  moon  did  yet  blush  red, 
Like  beauteous  rose  above  the  dead — 
And  the  lamps  the  saints  hang  out 
For  freed  spirits  on  their  route 
To  Heaven,  burned  bright  across  the  skies 
And  lit  far  space  to  mortals'  eyes — 
When,  like  ten  thousand  demons  driven, 
That  have  no  hope  to  be  forgiven, 
There  rose  a  mad  and  mocking  yell 
That  sounded  like  a  burst  from  Hell ! 
Piercing  the  deep  wolds  through  and  through, 
And  sweeping  the  wide  prairies  too — 
Jayhawkers  came,  and  came  Redlegs, 


QUANTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON,     71 

Hearing  how  Harris  had  oped  his  kegs 

Of  wine,  his  cupboard,  his  larder  all, 

To  Quantrell  and  men,  and  this  did  call — 

This  outrage  to  the  Jennison  cause, 

Swift  punishment  by  outlaws'  laws. 

A  dark  form  neared  the  Harris  home, 

And  call'd  :  "  Halloo  !  halloo  !  to  the  door  come  ! 

I'd  speak  to  you  and  ask  advice  !" 

The  farmer  answered  in  a  trice. 

But  scarcely  had  he  oped  the  door, 

When  he  fell  dying  on  the  floor, 

And  loud  report  of  carbine  shot 

Rang  on  the  night  air  round  the  spot ! — 

In  fear  the  wife  and  daughter  go 

Hastened  to  Harris,  while  their  foe 

Fired  the  house — saw  it  consume 

To  what  was  called  "  the  Jennison  tomb."* 

*  The  term  applied  to  the  remains  of  the  houses  burned 
by  Jennison. 


72     QUANTRELL    AND    JENN1SON. 

Mother  and  daughter  see  the  doom, 

And  with  the  wounded  man  they  fly 

To  a  neighbor  good  and  nigh, 

Where  soon  the  wounded  man  did  die. 

The  rough  riders,  led  by  Jennison, 

Follow'd  Quantrell  and  men  with  knife  and  gun, 

And  when  they  overtook  that  clan, 

It  was  a  battle  every  man 

Of  them  will  ne'er,  will  ne'er  forget, 

Though  dews  of  five-score  years  do  wet 

His  brow — for  it  was  fierce  and  hot, 

And  angry  poured  the  whistling  shot ! 

And  savagely  foes  hand  to  hand, 

With  their  knives  stained  with  blood  the  sand. 

Of  those  who  fought  in  furious  rage, 

Many  were  young  on  life's  strange  stage — 

Some  had  reached  the  winter  of  their  age : 

All  mingled  in  the  battle-cloud, 

While  thundered  the  voice  of  conflict  loud  ! 


QUANTRELL    AND    JENNISON.     73 

As  fierce  the  fight  as  Wilson  Creek,* 
Where  the  dead  fell  fast  and  thick. 
With  ensign  "  Quantrell,"  a  black  flag  high, 
Proudly  flaunted  the  smoky  sky — 
While  the  Union  flag  streamed  out, 
O'er  Red-leg  and  Jayhawker  rout. 
The  serried  ranks  of  friend  and  foe, 
Fought  hand  to  hand  and  toe  to  toe. 
The  war-horse  rears  and  strikes  as  fierce 
As  rider,  whose  sharp  bowies  pierce 
Quivering  flesh  and  harder  bone  — 
When  fall  the  mighty  with  a  groan. 
It  was  a  fierce  and  awful  fight ! 
The  men  that  died  in  battle  great, 
They  fought  as  demons  in  Hell's  light, 
For  some  poor  fickle  boon  of  fate — 

*  The  Battle  of  Wilson  Creek,  which  was  a  glorious 
victory  for  the  Union  forces,  5,000  of  them  whipping 
20,000  Rebels. 


74     QUANTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON. 

Hell's  light,  so  dreadful  in  its  glare 
It  makes  e'en  darkness  welcome  there. 
Yells  rose  to  th'  anxious,  listening  stars! 
Near  kindred  to  the  Great  Unknown — 
They  sank  until  Hell's  great  gate  jars, 
And  Satan  startles  on  his  throne ! 
As  oft,  here  Quantrell  plainly  showed 
Why  his  feared  name  was  dreaded  so — 
Why  his  savage  fame  e'er  redder  glowed 
'Long  Border,  wheresoe'er  men  go. 
While  foes  his  death  forever  sought, 
To  lay  him  bleeding  on  the  sods — 
He  handled  weapons  quick  as  thought 
And  sent  them  howling  to  their  gods  ! 
As  down  the  midnight  depths  of  Hell 
A  fiend  is  hurled  by  unseen  hands — 
A  fiend  that  dared  to  mock  God,  well 
Forever  falls,  and  he  never  lands  ! 
Fierce  Quantrell's  joy  and  his  wild  cry 


QUANTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON.     75 

Whene'er  a  foe  dead,  dying  fell, 

Is  as  when  a  fiend  soars  t'ward  the  sky 

Above  the  sombre  clouds  of  Hell. 

"  'Tis  useless  that  the  just  assail ! — 

It  seems  the  fiends  these  days  prevail !" 

Cried  Jennison,  when  Quantrell  fell 

Upon  his  squadron  like  a  hell ; 

Till,  vanquished,  he  afflicted  grieves 

O'er  troops  now  scattered  like  the  leaves ! 

For  few  that  lived,  with  him  had  fled, 

Leaving  their  many  unburied  dead 

With  Quantrell  and  the  men  he  led. 

***** 

When  John  McKeene  knew  all  the  truth 
His  heart  was  touched  with  tender  ruth 
For  her,  the  black-eyed  girl  he  loved, 
From  whom  he,  war  compelling,  roved. 
W7ith  a  short  leave  of  absence,  he 
Returned  to  her  he  longed  to  see. 


76     QUANTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON. 

He  found  her,  and  he  vowed  to  take 

Swift  vengeance  on  their  foes,  and  make 

The  murderers  of  fair  Annie's  sire 

Deep  rue  the  deed.     'Twas  her  desire 

To  part  no  more  with  her  fond  lover, 

Though  he  lived  an  outlaw  rover. 

Whether  the  cause  is  right  or  wrong, 

Or  whether  the  man  is  weak  or  strong, 

True  woman  goes  where  her  heart  dictates, 

The  rest  she  leaves  unto  the  fates. 

Now  with  her  lover  she  agreed 

To  join  clan  Quantrell  well  did  lead. 

As  McKeene's  wife,  'twas  thus  she'd  go 

In  war  to  share  his  weal  and  woe— 

This  she  would  do  in  man's  attire. 

With  mutual — with  a  like  desire, 

They  on  good  steeds  a  preacher  found 

Who  married  them — he  on  the  ground 

Before  his  door — they  on  their  steeds.   The  wife 


QUANTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON.     77 

In  man's  attire  now  changed  her  mode  of  life. 

Her  and  her  husband's  honeymoon 

Was  passed  'mid  scenes  of  blood  :  no  boon 

Of  peace  or  rest  was  theirs — they  saw 

The  awful  import  of  life's  law — 

They  realized  in  battles  red 

The  beauty  of  that  peace  far  fled, 

That  war's  black  art  was  Hell's  dark  plan 

To  feed  on  God's  best  gift  to  man. 

***** 
It  is  the  beauteous  month  of  June, 
When  the  air  re-echoes  many  a  tune 
The  angels  sing  to  God  on  high, 
While  basking  'neath  Christ's  tender  eye — 
When  great  Presences  seem  to  dwell 
On  hills,  in  woods  and  flowery  dell. 
Great  beauties  may  all  radiant  be 
On  Earth,  which  man  's  too  blind  to  see ; 
A  thousand  poems  unexpressed 


78     QUANTRELL    AND    J EN  N I  SON. 

May  be  within  the  poet's  breast, 

Which  angels  read  that  wander  by, 

Sweet  pilgrims  from  beyond  the  sky. 

Tis  morn  !  and  near  Lee  Summit  town 

McKeene  and  wife  are  riding  down 

The  prairies  green,  with  friends  but  few — 

Lo  !  the  Seventh  Missouri  comes  in  view  ! 

But  eight  unto  a  thousand  strong, 

A  fight  begins,  but  lasts  not  long. 

As  Spartans  fought  in  days  of  old 

So  fought  the  few  guerrillas  bold, 

Till  seven  were  slain  :  among  the  seven 

John  McKeene  his  life  had  given, 

And  Annie,  his  wife,  fell  in  her  gore, 

Dire  afflicted  with  the  wounds  she  bore. 

And  when  a  soldier  sought  to  slay, 

She  quickly  doth  her  sex  betray, 

For  ere  he'd  time  her  death  to  track 

She  pulled  her  long  hair  down  her  back 


QUANTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON,     79 

And  looked  at  him  with  woman's  eyes, 
Which  woke  in  him  a  soft  surprise. 
Her  beauty  held  him  like  a  dream — 
He  could  not  move,  so  fair  the  beam  ! 
Like  summer  moon  through  clouds  of  night 
She  broke  upon  his  ravished  sight ! — 
Oh  !  strangely  sweet  her  voice  did  seem — 
Like  Heaven-sent  whispers  in  a  dream  ! 
Spoke  as  she  lay,  sad,  weak  and  wan  : 
"  Though  all  I  love  are  dead  and  gone, 
I  'd  not  die  yet.     For  Jesus'  sake, 
A  grave  for  my  dear  dead  one  make !" 
Hot  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks  so  pale  ; 
Deep  feelings  caused  her  speech  to  fail 
For  a  time,  till  the  regiment  all  drew 
Around  her — then  her  words  renew. 
To  the  Colonel  then  she  did  appeal, 
And  found  his  heart  was  not  all  steel. 
At  her  request  he  in  a  grave 


8o     QUANTRELL    AND    JENNISON. 

Placed  her  dead  husband,  once  so  brave. 

At  her  request,  whom  he  did  pity, 

He  sent  her  on  to  Kansas  City, 

Where  she  fell  into  the  care 

Of  Sisters  of  Mercy,  and  well  did  fare  ; 

And  when  recovered  gave  her  hours — 

Like  so  many  precious  flowers — 

To  waiting  on  the  sick — on  wounded 

Who  fell  in  battle  sore  confounded. 

When  the  Star  of  Peace  arose, 

She  forgave  her  bitterest  foes, 

And  never  mentioned  her  dark  woes. 

Deep  in  recesses  of  each  heart 

Some  sacred,  cherish'd  secret  lies, 

Which  tenderly  is  laid  apart 

From  the  world's  inquiring  eyes. 

A  Sister  of  Mercy  at  New  Orleans, 

Annie  nursed  the  sick  'midst  direful  scenes 

Of  yellow  fever — diseases  all 


QUANTRELL    AND    J EN N I  SON.     81 

Which  the  heart  of  man  appal — 
Till  eighteen  hundred  and  seventy-eight, 
When  she  yielded  to  the  blast  of  fate. 
And  Sister  Celeste*  (Annie  McKeene) 
Sleeps  with  the  just  and  blest,  I  ween. 
God  never  forgets  the  sore-tried  soul, 
Unknown  to  fame  or  at  fame's  goal — 
But  high  in  dark  mysterious  realm 
The  Mighty  One  directs  the  helm 
Of  all  that 's  been,  is,  e'er  will  be, 
Through  time  and  through  eternity. 

*  The  devout  Sister  of  Mercy  who  recently  died  of  yellow 
fever  at  New  Orleans,  while  at  the  faithful  discharge  of  her 
duty  in  attending  to  the  wants  of  those  afflicted  with  yellow 
fever. 

6 


CANTO   VI. 

WILD    BILL. 

O  !  Phoebus  climbs  the  hills  of  morn  ! 

And  white-robed  day  is  newly  born. 

Far  o'er  the  prairies,  fair  to  see, 
Wild  yellow  sunflowers  flourish  free 
For  miles  and  miles,  a  golden  sea  ! 
Here  countless  wild-flowers  breast  the  wind, 
As  in  Shakspeare  are  most  thoughts  enshrined 
Which  breathe  the  beauty  of  immortal  mind. 
One  mile,  and  scarce  a  mile,  apart, 
Are  now  encamped  two  warlike  clans — 
But  soon  from  their  still  rest  they'll  start, 
For  each  prepares  for  battle's  dread  demands! 
Soon  shall  arise  the  voice  of  war, 
And  death  will  lead  the  wild  uproar  ! 

[82] 


WILD    BILL.  8 

As  black  as  crime  out  one  flag  flows, 

With  "Quantrell"  writ  in  red  it  rose; 

While  o'er  the  other,  fair  as  light, 

The  stars  and  stripes  wave  beauteous  bright ! 

Lo  !  those  o'er  whom  the  Union  banner 

Floats  in  such  a  winsome  manner, 

Approach  their  foes,  whom  Younger  leads 

To  battle  where  the  fighter  bleeds. 

Why  was  not  the  great  guerrilla  here 

Whom  all  his  foes  so  well  do  fear? 

Low  lying  nigh  a  river  scaur, 

When  ten  to  his  one  his  foemen  are, 

Bold  Quantrell  waited  a  fierce  fight. 

His  lieutenant,  with  a  force  bedight, 

He  had  sent  upon  a  scout 

To  forage  through  the  land  about, 

Bushwhack  and  any  foeman  rout. 

All  suddenly  Cole  Younger  heard 

A  voice — any  other  he  preferred — 


84  WILD    BILL. 

A  voice,  in  tones  so  deep  and  loud 
It  seemed  to  pierce  the  trembling  cloud. 
From  Younger's  lips  this  warning  fell: 
"  Boys!  we're  on  the  brink  of  Hell  ! 
That  sound  is  Wild  Bill's*  Border  yell  !" 
Bold  Younger  to  himself  now  thought, 
"I  have  a  foe  I  have  not  sought! 
Though  in  my  days'  best  fighting  hour, 
This  foe  will  try  my  greatest  power — 
Try  power  of  each  and  every  man  ; 
He  leads  a  fierce  and  desperate  clan  ! 
I  do  confess  beneath  my  breath 
I  dread  to  fight  this  son  of  death. 
If  Quantrell  was  but  here,  how  proud 
I'd  rush  into  the  battle-cloud. 
Though  I  'm  a  Hector  in  the  fight, 
Wild  Bill 's  Achilles  in  his  might— 
But,  pshaw  !  I'll  trust  all  to  the  fates — 
*  William  Hicock,  famous  as  "  Wild  Bill." 


WILD    BILL.  85 

We'll  war  like  devils  at  Hell's  gates — 

Buffalo  Bill  and  Texas  Jack, 

I  see,  help  lead  the  yelling  pack! 

These  men  seem  devils  hot  from  Hell, 

Whom  Satan  seems  to  shield  too  well. 

When  I  fought  them  in  Texas  in  the  past 

I  t*hen  swore  an  oath  it  was  my  last. 

From  what  I  learn  they're  on  a  scout 

To  spy  fierce  Quantrell's  secrets  out. 

But  there  they're  '  off,'  for  Quantrell's  deep 

And  e'er  doth  his  own  secrets  keep — 

He  ever  sleeps  where  none  can  say, 

Safe  hid,  that  gold  may  not  betray. 

Boys !  ere  we  enter  in  this  row, 

I  want  to  tell  you  here  and  now — 

That  your  best  fighting  must  be  done, 

Or  when  goes  down  yon  wandering  sun 

He'll  look  upon  us  dead  and  st~rk. 

Gird  up  your  loins — each  weapon  mark — 


86  WILD    BILL. 

See  that  each  cartridge  is  at  hand, 

And  each  weapon  to  command  ! 

We  fight  Wild  Bill ! — he  comes  this  way — 

That  means  he  comes  to  murderous  slay — 

It  means  we  '11  have  the  devil  to  pay  ! 

For  Bill,  the  cuss,  when  free  from  liquor, 

No  use  denying,  makes  things  sicker — 

With  crew  he  from  the  wilds  obtains, 

His  Indian-fighters  of  the  plains — 

Than  any  other  class  of  men 

That  fate  e'er  on  this  earth  did  pen  ! 

Hark!  once  more  Bill's  border  yell! 

Our  foes  are  nearing — lie  low  well ! 

Down  with  the  steeds! — in  ambush,  so 

We  '11  have  advantage  of  the  foe, 

And  get  the  '  drop '  on  them,  I  know  !" 

Down  sink  the  steeds,  well  trained  to  war, 

And  all  is  still  as  at  death's  door 

When  death  alone  is  there  no  more. 


WILD    BILL.  87 

The  desperate  crew  that  Bill  doth  lead 
Now  dashes  by  at  headlong  speed — 
Cole  Younger's  clan  arise  and  fire, 
Get  a  reply  that  none  desire. 
Now  Younger  cried,  with  hurried  speech, 
"  To  horse  !  and  for  your  foemen  '  reach  ! ' ' 
They  mount,  they  charge,  fire  oft  and  well, 
While  Bill  and  boys  on  their  ranks  tell — 
On  each  side  many  a  strong  man  fell ; 
Where  Wild  Bill  fought,  the  dead  do  swell 
To  thrice  the  number  elsewhere  slain. 
He  flies,  he  flashes  o'er  the  plain — 
He  kills  before,  behind,  the  same — 
Shoots  on  all  sides — true  is  his  aim  : 
He  fires  with  such  rapidity 
One  stream  of  fire  doth  ever  free 
Flame  from  the  mouths  of  his  fire  arms, 
For  each  hand  a  revolver  warms. 
His  thundering  yells  incessant  rise, 


88  WILD    BILL. 

Which  tell  his  foes  he  them  defies — 
His  long  hair  snaps  and  cracks  behind, 
And  lashes  the  complaining  wind; 
He  bristles  like  a  porcupine 
With  weapons  growling  in  a  line — 
An  arsenal  that  spins  and  flies 
Before  the  watcher's  wondering  eyes, 
He  seems  to  be — his  thundering  yell 
Rising  like  a  voice  from  Hell ! 
Savage  the  conflict,  dread  and  hot — 
Swift,  sure  and  oft  the  fighters  shot — 
Oft  saddles  empty  as  men  die, 
Oft  riderless  steeds  the  prairie  fly. 
The  doubtful  combat  they  maintain 
Till  night's  deep  shades  involve  the  plain- 
When  Younger  sent  one  of  his  men 
For  Quantrell,  lying  in  the  glen 
Hard  by  Blue  River,  waiting  then 
For  Jennison's  and  Ewing's  men. 


WILD    BILL.  89 

Quantrell  came  at  Cole's  desire, 
But  found  none  on  whom  to  wreak  his  ire — 
Wild  Bill  had  learned  of  Younger's  aid, 
And  vanished  in  night's  friendly  shade. 


CANTO   VII. 


YOUNGER   AND    HIS    MEN. 

ARTH  clothed  with  grass — with  each 

fair  thing 
Of    flowers — of     all    the    gems    of 


spring- 
In  beauty  dreams  :  thus  kissed  by  Heaven 
'Twould  seem  Christ's  death  had  all  forgiven. 
Day  blushes  on  the  summit  height, 
There  dwells  a  calm  and  holy  still ; 
The  warring  winds  that  howled  all  night, 
Soft  whispers  breathe  upon  the  hill ! 
As  bridal  bark  with  silken  sails 
First  leaves  its  moorings  on  Time's  shore, 

And  happy  speeds  before  soft  gales 
[90] 


YOUNGER    AND    HIS    MEN.       91 

Adown  Life's  river,  each  explore 

The  blithe  bird  winds  his  dulcet  horn, 

Whose    tones    float    through   the    depths   of 

morn, 

For  silver  springs  of  love  do  flow 
From  his  fond  spirit,  rich  I  know. 
And  morning  broke  upon  a  sight 
Of  blood  and  carnage  of  a  fearful  fight ! 
Upon  Cole  Younger  and  his  men 
Burying  their  dead  deep  in  the  glen. 
When  finished,  all  wearily  sat  down 
To  rest  themselves  upon  the  ground. 
Quoth  Younger  :  "  Since  foes  were  as  great 
In  numbers  as  ourselves,  our  fate 
Is  well — aye  !  exceeding  well, 
Though  many  of  your  comrades  fell. 
Yet  many  of  Wild  Bill's  best  men 
Are  dead  in  this  prairie  glen. 
Such,  such  is  war — no  use  to  weep 


92         YOUNGER    AND    HIS    MEN. 

O'er  those  that  woo  eternal  sleep — 

They're  gone  beyond  our  power  to  keep. 

To-morrow  may  see  us  as  they — 

God  pity  us  every  one,  I  say! 

Well,  boys  !  while  we  rest  I'll  tell  a  story, 

Here  on  the  field  of  battle  gory, 

With  no  disrespect  to  those  gone  to  glory. 

In  Texas,  Wild  Bill,  with  a  score 

Of  Indian  fighters  of  the  plain, 

Were  driven  to  a  bloody  war, 

And  many  were  their  foes  then  slain. 

'Twas  on  a  time  when  Bill,  the  devil, 

Went  south,  he  said  to  hold  the  Texans  level. 

His  followers  were  fifty  odd, 

And  they  were  rough-and-ready  shod 

For  any  '  scrimmage*  great  or  small. 

In  Shelby  County — it  was  fall — 

Two  hundred  thieving  '  Regulators' 

Came  down  upon  them  like  a  flash; 


YOUNGER    AND    HIS    MEN.        93 

But  soon  they  rued,  these  Texas  traitors, 

That  they  had  made  their  reckless  dash  ; 

So  many  of  them  in  battle  fell 

That  few  were  left  the  tale  to  tell. 

Their  bloody  hurt  yet  rankles  sore, 

And  since  that  day,  they're  not  for  war. 

There  man  can  travel,  day  or  night, 

And  never  find  a  foe  to  fight, 

If  like  Wild  Bill  heisbedight. 

To  that  section  I  refer, 

Where  they  '  waked  the  wrong  passenger  ! ' 

They  wakened  Wild  Bill  and  his  crew, 

They  wakened  Bill,  who  fifty  slew. 

Ah!  when  he  fires  he  misses  not, 

But  strikes  his  aim — the  very  spot. 

'Twas  this  that  made  his  bristling  name, 

'Twas  thus  he  got  his  '  drop '  on  fame. 

Had  I  not  worn  a  steel  breast-plate, 

Death  now  would  triumph  o'er  my  fate. 


94 


YOUNGER    AND    HIS    MEN. 


Full  fifty  times  Bill's  bullets  struck  my  breast, 
Full  fifty  times  they  flattened  on  my  crest." 
Now  Younger's  mind  being  broader  far 

o  o 

Than  average  partisan  of  the  war, 
He  could  acknowledge,  and  he  would, 
The  prowess  of  a  foe  withstood. 
"  Well,  boys  !  up  now,  let  us  away — 
Dawn  crimsons  at  approach  of  day  ! 
Quantrell  told  me  Ewing  and  Jennison 
He  to-day  expects — so  look  for  fun 
Down  near  the  Blue — he  ordered  me 
To  fail  not  at  the  battle  be." 
He  leaps  upon  his  war-horse,  light, 
And  spurs  him  t'ward  the  coming  fight, 
His  followers  close  upon  his  flight. 


CANTO   VIII. 


IN   THE   SNI   HILLS. 

ROM  out  the  deep,  on  golden  wings, 
The  blushing  angel  Morningsprings! 
And  her  fond  smiles  of  beauty  dwell, 
On  hill  and  plain  with  magic  spell — 
Dwell  on  the  mist-clothed  hills  of  Sni, 
Which,  tower-like,  seem  to  touch  the  sky, 
Deep  in  whose  fastness  Quantrell  lay. 
Of  a  hot  slow  fever  the  sad  prey. 
He  thinks  upon  his  years  of  life, 
Of  childhood,  boyhood,  manhood's  strife, 
And  all  his  life's  acts  pass  him  by 
Like  sheeted  ghosts  we  oft  descry 
When  night  engulfs  the  world  with  shade, 

And  God  breathes  "  I  watch — be  not  afraid  !" 

[95] 


96  IN     THE    SNI    HILLS. 

Among  his  many  deeds  of  war, 
There's  one  he  deeply  doth  deplore. 
Olathe,  Lone  Jack,  other  places 
Gave  him  no  pain — but  one  disgraces 
All  others — and  he  cursed  the  day 
When  his  spy  did  his  trust  betray, 
And  thus  made  Lawrence  all  his  prey. 
He  cursed  his  weakness  at  that  hour 
To  check  his  men's  fierce,  brutal  power, 
Who  slaughtered  with  a  mad  desire, 
Inflamed  with  liquor's  fatal  fire — 

Like  maddened  bloodhounds  in  their  ire. 
He  cursed  his  base  and  treacherous  spy, 

Who  told  to  him  a  cruel  lie — 

Led  him  to  think  that  those  were  there, 

Who  brought  him  all  his  deep  despair. 

Those  who  destroyed  all  he  did  cherish — 

Caused  in  life's  fairest  flower  to  perish. 

Yet  there  was  one  act  which,  sublime, 


IN     THE     SNI    HILLS.  97 

Should  glow  'mid  his  dark  deeds  of  crime — 
An  act  of  which  he  should  be  proud, 
One  star  of  beauty  through  the  cloud. 
When  his  wild  crew  of  drunken  beasts, 
Who  joyed  in  death's  remorseless  feasts. 
Were  glutting  their  mad  thirst  for  blood, 
When  died  two  hundred  mortals  good- 
Pie  took  some  fifty  men  or  more, 
Who  were  in  the  Eldridge  House  before, 
Them  to  the  city's  south  conveyed, 
Where  to  protect  them  he  essayed  ; 
He  placed  them  in  a  barrack,  then 
With  his  fire-arms  defied  his  men. 
But  hark!   what  sound  of  hurrying  feet 
Awakes  the  silence  of  the  hills? 
And  yells  that  caverns  all  repeat, 
To  wind  that  wanders  where  it  wills  ! 
The  fierce  and  cruel  ghouls  of  war, 

The  ope-mouthed  cannons  loudly  roar. 

7 


98  IN     THE    SNI    HILLS. 

Forgetting  all  his  sickness  now 

The  great  guerrilla  chieftain  rose, 

And  mounting  his  black  steed — his  brow 

Is  scowled — he  spurs  to  friends  and  foes  ! 

His  men  retreat  ! — He  loud  doth  cry : 

"Halt!  right    about!  beat    back  the  foe!" 

They  halt ! — they  charge  ! — on  him  rely 

Who  e'er  had  brought  them  out  of  woe. 

"Yield  not !  yield  not,  though  all  the  host 

Of  foes  are  led  by  Hector's  mighty  ghost !" 

Though  Quantrell's  genius  was  in  war, 

He  gave  his  quick  commands  as  short 

As  words  express — to  army  lore, 

Not  language,  he  ever  had  resort. 

" 'Tis  strange!"  he  thought,   "that  Anderson, 

The  reckless  Bill,  should  thus  retreat  ! 

That  Frank  or  Jesse  James  should  run, 

Todd,  Poole,  or  even  Younger  beat 

A  back  track  when  'tis  wise  they  should, 


IN     THE    SNI    HILLS.  99 

When    odds  are    met    too  great   to    be    with 
stood — 

'Tis  not  strange,  for  they  have  wisdom  good. 
But  Anderson  !  'tis  first  he  e'er  went  back, 
Upon  his  red  and  bloody  track." 
This  all  through  Quantrell's  mind  did  flash, 
As  on  hiscrime-hued  steed  did  dash 
The  chieftain — for  Anderson  he'd  sent  out 
Upon  a  far  and  dangerous  scout. 
The  guerrillas  well  the  fight  maintain, 
Since  Quantrell  is  with  them  again  ; 
His  deep,  defiant,  thundering  yell 
All  their  wild  fears  doth  quickly  quell ; 
His  familiar  and*  assuring  voice, 
Made  their  once-fearing  hearts  rejoice, 
Though  outnumbered  ten  to  one. 
But  where  is  he,  Bill  Anderson  ? 
"  Dead !"  a  guerrilla  said  he  knew — 
"  Died  'mid  a  score  of  foes  he  slew." 


ioo  IN     THE    SNI    HILLS. 

On  his  battle-footed  steed, 

Quantrell  e'er  his  force  doth  lead. 

It  is  an  awful,  fearful  fight 

For  neither  foe  will  take  to  flight — 

The  dead  are  falling  left  and  right. 

The  awful  clang  of  conflict  roars, 

Shakes  hills  and  distant  shelly  shores  ; 

Like  terrific  thunders  roll, 

Flashing  light  from  pole  to  pole  ; 

Like  awful  voice  of  the  great  God  calling 

Far  through  the  vast  and  boundless  deep 

Of  Eternity,  to  great  soul  falling 

To  everlasting  woe  to  weep. 

The  sounds  of  battle  echo  far    • 

Through  the  misty  hills  of  Sni, 

Loud  thunders  dread  the  voice  of  war, 

And  seem  to  shake  the  distant  sky. 

The  stern  Avenger — Renegade — 

The  guerrilla  chieftain,  Quantrell,  fought 


IN     THE    SN2    HILLS.  101 

Coolly,  which  his  men's  fears  allayed, 

Who  well  his  lion  spirit  caught. 

Day  wanes,  night  nears,  the  carnage  still 

Goes     on — red      Murder     walks     his     direful 

rounds, 

Oft  blanches  pale — disturbed,  the  hill 
Trembles  at  war's  terrific  sounds. 
The  Red-Legs  and  Jayhawkers  fought 
With  frenzy,  fury,  fierce  and  wild, 
'Neath  Jennison,  but  all  for  naught, 
For  Quantrell,  the  avenger,  smiled 
Upon  his  men,  a  potent  smile — 
A  smile,  though  grim  and  savage  like  the  war, 
His  men  from  it  took  hope  the  while, 
And,  cyclone-like,  their  foes  before 
Them,  their  red  hands  of  vengeance  hurled, 
As  leaves  by  storm  are  swept  across  the  world. 


CANTO   IX. 


GENERAL   EWING  S   CAMP — THE  POET. 

HE  breath   of  spring,  soft,  fresh  and 
rare, 


With   fragrance   sweet  of  unknown 


flowers, 

Comes  wafting  through  the  yielding  air, 
And  bathes  with  love  the  hazel  bowers. 
One  who  wore  the  scallop  shoon, 
Who  lingered  yet  in  life's  fair  noon, 
Was  pacing  as  a  sentinel, 
Before  a  tent,  white,  wide  and  tall  ; 
Where  General  Thomas  Ewing  slept — 
Above,  the  stars  their  vigils  kept. 

Ewing  liked  this  child  of  song, 
[102] 


GENERAL   E  WING'S  CAMP.        103 

Who  could  tell  adventures  long 

In  the  richest  flowing  rhyme — 

Romances  of  a  bygone  time, 

And  he  sang  of  deeds  sublime. 

E'en  things  uncanny,  dark  and  dull, 

From  his  refining  crucible 

Reflected  fair  and  beautiful ! 

And  everything,  crude  though  it  be, 

Came  from  his  soul  in  beauty  free  ! — 

In  liquid,  musical  numbers  given, 

As  though  Christ  handed  joys  from  Heaven. 

The  poet's  heart  was  full  of  woe  : 

She,  whom  he  loved,  who  loved  him  so. 

The  daughter  of  his  country's  foe, 

Was  distant,  in  the  South  afar — 

And  her  near  kin  his  foes  all  are. 

But  deep  within  his  heart  he  swore, 

He  would  have  her  though  the  roar 

Of  thousands  of  war's  missiles  dire, 


io4        GENERAL   SWING'S  CAMP. 

Poured  their  deadly  heated  fire. 

"She's  mine!"  he  said  ;  "the  danger's  great — 

But  love  the  greatest  odds  defies. 

Who  would  not  dare  both  death  and  fate, 

To  win  so  sweet,  so  fair  a  prize  !" 

He  owned  a  steed — one  of  a  few — 

Which  mighty  deeds  of  speed  could  do ; 

With  this  swift  courser,  and  fire-arms, 

He  ventured  to  defy  all  harms, 

And  bear  the  lovely  girl  away, 

Who  pined  in  secret  for  the  day 

When  the  child  of  song  would  come, 

And  bear  her  from  her  hateful  home. 

He  wooed  her  with  the  poet's  power 

Of  love,  that  blooms  a  heavenly  flower. 

He  told  her  that  perchance  her  name — 

Her  love  for  him,  one  beauteous  flame, 

With  his — would  live  in  song  and  fame  ; 

For  greater  than  kings,  with  kingdoms  strong, 


GENERAL  E WING'S  CAMP.       105 

Are  the  mighty  kings  of  song. 

Kings  and  kingdoms  pass  away 

In  time,  as  snow  'neath  sun's  hot  ray, 

But  the  true  bard's  verse  will  live  alway, 

Like  one  eternal  summer  day. 

She  listened  to  his  songs  of  love, 

And  hence  was  lost  to  all  save  him  ; 

His  poems  burned  like  stars  above, 

Like  magic  worked  on  woman's  whim. 

His  song  could  win  e'en  Amazon's  heart. 

Who  can  resist  the  poet's  art, 

When  he  hath  that  fine  frenzy  of  the  brain, 

Which  the  true  poet  doth  retain  ? 

There  was  no  sin  that  Ethel  gave 

Heart,  soul  and  all  unto  the  brave 

And  noble  son  of  silken  song 

Against  friends'  wishes! — wherefore  wrong? 

An  angel  in  its  flight  afar — 

God's  messenger — may  pause,  nor  wrong, 


io6       GENERAL  SWING'S  CAMP. 

To  list  a  moment  to  some  star 
Which  hath  immortal  power  of  song; 
Nor  wou\d  God  chide  that  angel  sweet, 
Though  learned  to  love  that  star  so  meet. 

***** 
Night  on  the  plain  !  the  moon  divine, 
Through  heaven's  boundless  depths  sails  on, 
Nor  mist  nor  cl  >ud  doth  stain  the  fine, 
Fair  glories,  which  this  night  doth  dawn. 
Oh,  beautiful!     Oh,  angel  night! 
Fair  night  of  June,  from  God  above, 
'Twould  seem  that  in  thy  holy  light 
E'en  iron  hearts  would  melt  to  love. 
The  poet's  plans  thus  far  work  well. 
'Neath  window  of  the  Southern  belle, 
His  Northern  vow  he  now  fulfills. 
With  song  he  wakes  the  vales  and  hills, 
And  her,  whom  long  his  soul  did  mourn  ; 
And  well  his  singing  robes  adorn, 


THE  POET   AND   SONG.  107 

While  touching  soft  his  harp  of  love, 
To  her  who  longed  with  him  to  rove — 
To  fly  to  distant,  happier  lands  : 

"  Dear  Ethel !  fair,  sweet  child  of  God, 
From  love's  own  fountain  we  do  drink — 

From  love's  own  fountain,  o'er  which  nod 
The  passion-flowers,  blooming  on  the  brink, 

"  Snow-bosom'd  love  !   I  love  thee  ; 

Thy  kisses  are  more  rich  and  rare 
Than  all  the  other  mouths  that  be, 

Of  all  the  many  rose-lipped  fair. 

"  I  see  thy  face  in  every  star, 

That  blossoms  on  the  field  of  night — 

Oh,  love!  thou  knowest  I've  come  far, 
To  gaze  upon  thy  beauty  bright ! 

"  Thy  voice  sweet  murmurs  in  mine  ears, 
In  dreams — in  dreams  you  smile  on  me — 


io8  THE  POET  AND   SONG. 

Like  music  of  the  happy  spheres, 
I  breathe  this  melody  of  thee. 

"  From  clouds  that  float  at  eventide — 
Soft,  purple-tinted,  gold  and  blue — 

I  see  one  fair  as  God's  own  bride : 
She  smiles  !  lo  !  darling,  it  is  you  ! 

"  The  thought-flowers  of  thy  mind  so  high, 
So  beauteous  blush  far  o'er  earth's  sod, 

That  angels  wing  'twixt  earth  and  sky, 
And  carry  all  those  flowers  to  God. 

"A  golden  bell  of  Heaven  rings  now 

The  matin-hour  of  thy  sweet  prime— 
The  flower-time  of  thy  life,  I  trow, 
Is  breathing  odors  rich  as  rhyme 

"  Of  Byron — sweet  as  Shelley's  tone — 
In  their  grand  lays  of  life  and  love, 


THE    POET    AND     SONG.          109 

Dear  girl  !  fair  girl !  thou'rt  all  mine  own  ; 
A  gift,  God  sent  me  from  above  ! 

"  Oh  !  sweet  is  summer's  twilight  hour — 
The  hour  when  Day  sinks  to  his  rest, 

And  like  a  weary  child,  each  flower 

Sleeps  on  its  Mother  Earth's  broad  breast. 

"  Sweet  is  the  star  of  eve,  that  pale 
Far  glows  beyond  the  shores  of  night, 

When  are  heard  the  robes  of  angels  trail 
Adown  their  Heaven-lit  halls  of  light. 

"  But  Ethel!  thou  art  lovelier  far 

Than  twilight  hour  with  dreams  so  fair-^- 

Than  star  of  eve — than  angels  are 

E'en  though  their  radiant  beauty  's  rare. 

"  Oh  !  beautiful  is  womanhood — 
Oh  !  lovely  all  God's  girls,  I  trow, 


no          THE    POET    AND     SONG. 

And  thou,  dear  one,  of  all  the  brood 
Art  far  the  fairest  one  I  know. 

"  Dear  one  !  so  like  a  rose  you  seem, 
Sweet  blushing  lone  in  woods  afar, 

Accept  this  rose  I  pluck'd  in  dream, 
From  sweet  land  nestled  by  a  star. 

[Here  a  rose  is  thrown  into  the  maiden's  window,  j 

"  Oh,  rose-lipped,  rich-lipped  one  ! 

Kissed  with  the  dewy  wine  of  love 
I  burn  to  clasp  thee  as  the  sun 

Burns  for  the  loveliest  star  above  ! 

"  Oh,  Ethel !  ope  thy  sweet  white  arms — 
To  thy  rich  bosom  draw  me,  dear  ! 

Where  midst  thy  Paradise  of  charm 

All  beauteous  things  and  Heaven  appear! 


THE    POET    AND    SONG.         in 

"  In  dreams  I  'm  kiss'd  by  thee,  who  smiles  ; 

Though     thou     art     far,     sweet     memories 

wreathe — 
Though  we  be  parted  by  long  miles, 

Sweet  odors  of  thy  soul  I  breathe. 

"  The  music  and  the  poetry, 

Oh,  Love  !  of  thee,  sweet  being,  near, 
Is  sweeter  than  all  else  to  me, 

More  lovely  and  more  dearly  dear. 

"  When  left  with  thee  and  God,  oft  I, 

Deep  love-drown'd  by  thy  charms  so  rare, 

Do  pluck  the  star-flowers  from  the  sky 
And  place  them  in  thy  silken  hair. 

"  Oft  gaze  down  in  thy  star-lit  eyes, 
See  thy  sweet,  gentle  spirit  smile— 

And  linger  there,  in  Paradise, 
Afar  from  everything  that 's  vile. 


it2          THE    POET    AND     SONG. 

"  The  rose  that  thy  cheek  blushes  fair, 
A  poem  blooms  all  poets  greet — 

Which  kindred  angels  of  the  air 
Read  with  delight,  for  it  is  sweet. 

"  Would  I  were  a  dream  in  thy  fond  breast— 
What  dearer  heaven  could  there  be ! 

I  then  would  be  forever  blest, 
From  every  secret  sorrow  free. 

"  Ope  !  ope  thy  milk-white  arms  to  me — 
Caress  me  with  thy  kisses  warm — 

Swoon  on  my  kiss  alone  for  thee, 
While  I  clasp  thy  blushing  form. 

"  I  feel  thy  breath,  like  breeze  of  south 
With  flower-sweets  laden,  kiss  me  warm — 

Oh,  come!  I  die  to  kiss  thy  melting  mouth, 
And  clasp  thy  fair  and  rosy  form  ! 


THE    POET    AND     SONG.          113 

"  Come  !  let  me  sink  and  dream  and  rest, 
O  Queen  of  angels  !  sweet  and  fair; 

Upon  the  heaven  of  thy  breast, 
And  fondly  love  thee  ever  there. 

"  Ethel  !  my  beautiful !  mine  own  ! 

To  look  upon  thy  face  inspires 
Sweet  dreams  I  ne'er  before  have  known 

And  kindles  all  love's  sacred  fires. 

"  My  burning  love  my  soul  will  scorch 
If  thou  dost  not  hasten  to  my  side, 

It  will  consume  me  like  a  torch 

If  thou  art  not  soon  my  blushing  bride. 

"  For  every  moment  kept  from  thee 

Is  bliss  that's  lost  forevermore — 
A  gulf  of  sorrow  unto  me, 

Where  waves  in  fury  lash  the  shore. 
8 


ii4          THE    POET    AND     SONG. 

"  You  look  so  fair  I  deem  it  true 

You  bathe  in  dew  of  Heaven-grown  flowers 
Which  God  did  plant  Himself  for  you 

About  his  angel-builded  bowers. 

"  On  purple  pinions,  wing  the  Hours — 

The    happy    Hours — happy   since    you    see 
them  fly— 

And  lovelier  are  the  beauteous  flowers 
Whene'er  they  know  that  thou  art  nigh. 

"  Sweet  Ethel !  fairest  flower  of  love  ! 

Oh,  fairest  flower  of  womanhood — 
I  deem  there  's  not  in  Heaven  above 

Another  one  so  fair,  dear,  sweet  and  good. 

"  The  perfume  of  thy  love  for  me, 

Is  sweeter  than  scent  of  rose  so  bright, 

Though  queen  of  all  the  flowers  that  be, 

It  has  not  the  sweets  which  thy  charms  unite. 


THE    POET    AND    SONG.         115 

"  A  single  word  of  thine,  dear  one, 
Is  lovelier  far  than  voices  singing, 

Of  all  the  angels  Heaven  doth  own 

When  round  God's  milk-white  throne  they're 
winging. 

"  In  the  deep  clear  Heaven  of  thine  eyes, 

0  lovely  music-footed  maid  ! 
I  see  the  joys  of  Paradise 

And  feel  to  highest  Heaven  I've  strayed. 

"  I  never  lived  until  I  knew  thee 

For  I  never  loved  before — 
I  used  to  walk  the  earth,  but  free 

1  now  along  the  skies  do  soar. 

"  Oh,  Morning  Star  of  all  my  love! 

A  sea  of  glory  dreams  afar, 
When  I  behold  thee,  my  sweet  dove, 

With  beauty  fairer  than  the  star. 


n6          THE    POET    AND    SONG. 

"  And  when  I  feel  thy  loving  kiss, 

A  golden  glow  of  happiness 
Steals  through  my  soul — it  is  a  bliss 

That  language,  dear,  fails  to  express. 

"  With  sweetest  words  that  love  can  frame 
In  poetry,  e'er  I'll  sing  thy  praise — 

Aye  !   I  shall  garland  thy  dear  name 
With  beauteous,  melting,  lovely  lays. 

"  Oh,  it  shall  e'er  be  my  delight 

To  guard  thee  waked  and  in  thy  dreams, 
I'll  kiss  thee  to  thy  rest  at  night 

And  watch  thee  till  the  morning  beams. 

"  The  hours  I  pass  with  thee,  dear  one ' 
Are  silken  hours  of  peace  to  me. 

When  flowing  streams  of  sweetness  run 
Through  all  my  soul  with  melody. 


THE    POET    AND    SONG.         117 

"The  fair  blush  of  thy  blooming  years 
Doth  fill  my  days  with  golden  gleams — 

And  wrapped  in  sleep  'tis  you  endears 

And  fills  my  nights  with  beauteous  dreams. 

"  Oh,  Ethel !  in  thy  sweet  young  years 
You  bloom,  'midst  all  the  fairest  rose — 

You   keep   those  sweets    for  me  with  modest 

fears, 
You  would  not  to  the  world  disclose. 

"  When  I  thy  circling  zone  embrace 

And  kiss  thy  lips  for  me  alone — 
My  heart,  my  soul,  my  being  trace 

Thy  goodness  which  but  Heaven  can  own. 

"  When  sad  o'er  buried  hopes  I  grieve 

Beside  a  lone,  neglected  tomb, 
As  summer  sweet,  serene  as  eve, 

Thy  smile  makes  all  my  being  bloom. 


n8          THE    POET    AND    SONG. 

"  Thy  eyes  light  up  my  soul  of  gloom 

As  Earth  lights  'neath  the  kiss  of  Heaven- 

And  life  flowers  t'ward  a  perfect  bloom — 
Flowers  fair  like  soul  by  Christ  forgiven. 

"  When  Morn  her  eyelids  open  wide 
And  glances  on  the  world  below, 

E'er  I  long  to  have  thee  by  my  side, 
The  fairest  of  the  flowers  that  grow. 

"  When  day  walks  o'er  the  gulf  of  Time, 
As  Christ  walked  o'er  the  happy  sea, 

E'en  midway  in  the  hours  sublime, 
My  yearning  soul  goes  out  to  thee. 

"  When  comes  the  hour  King  Sol  doth  pray 
To  God — far  in  the  west,  ere  fled — 

Ere  sinking  down  in  ocean  gray 
To  sleep  among  the  mighty  dead, 


THE    POET    AND     SONG.          119 

"  I  long  for  thee,  sweet  star  of  night ! 

And  hearken  to  the  roving  hours, 
That  whisper  of  thy  beauty  bright 

And  lovely  Hope's  delightful  flowers. 

"  Dear  Ethel !  strangely  dear  to  me, 
You  float  my  day  and  nightly  dreams, 

Like  some  fair  star  we  ever  see, 

That  on  us  down  from  heaven  beams. 

"  Oh,  Ethel  !  dearest,  darling  love  ! 

I  '11  love  thee  while  the  years  increase — 
Thy  beauty  comes  where'er  I  rove 

And  brings  me  pleasure,  hope  and  peace. 

"  Oh,  when  I  sip  of  thy  sweet  lips 
The  purple  wine  of  love  I  quaff — 

I  heed  not  time  though  by  it  slips, 

For  through  me  the  sweetest  pleasures  laugh, 


120          THE    POET    AND     SONG. 

"  Mine  angel !  thou  hast  all  my  heart, 
Yes,  all  my  deep  love,  dearest  one  ! 

There's  no  world  to  me  from  thee  apart — 
Thou  art  my  bright  star,  moon  and  sun. 

"  Oh,  noble,  lovely,  loving  girl,  . 

Rest,  rest  secure  that  I  am  thine, 
Throughout  life's  wild  and  stormy  whirl 

I'll  love  thee  with  a  love  divine. 

"  Of  all  other  fair  ones  I  have  chanced 

To  meet,   I've  thought  each  time,  'tis  she 
I've  sought ! 

But  when  I  in  each  soul  advanced 

I've  found  a  waste  where  there  was  naught. 

"No  flower  of  fragrance  blossomed  there — 
Each  soul  was  like  a  fair  sad  tomb, 


THE    POET    AND    SONG.         121 

Which  stands  in  snowy  blank  despair, 
With  no  sweet  rose  and  no  perfume. 

"  But  when  I  found  thee,  then  I  cried 

In  joy,  for  well  I  knew  thy  soul 
Was  blushing  with  sweet  flowers  denied 

To  others — I  had  reached  the  goal. 

"The  acme  of  all  that  is  to  love 

Thou    art — and   now  is   blessed   my  ardent 

heart, 
For  one  angel  from  her  home  above 

Did  come,  like  God,  ne'er  to  depart. 

"  Hope  breathes  in  beauty  sweet  and  fair, 
Of  when  thou'll  nestle  by  my  side — • 

When  thou  art — to  whom  none  can  compare — 
Mine  own,  my  loved,  my  beauteous  bride. 


122  THE    LOVERS^    FLIGHT. 

11  In  dreams  upon  thy  beauteous  breast, 

Then  let  my  feverish  being  sleep 
Fore'er,  for  I  am  weary  and  would  rest 

Where  cares  are  not,  nor  shadows  keep." 

When  closed  his  song,  the  loved  and  fair 
Young  girl  was  breathing  swift  and  deep  ; 
She  longed  to  fly  with  him  who  dare 
For  her  brave  the  dangers  war  doth  keep. 
Down  from  her  window  by  a  rope 
She  swung,  his  eager  eyes  to  charm — 
Swift  as  wing'd  Love  keeps  pace  with  Hope 
She  in  her  lover's  arms  fell  warm. 
"  They  come  !"  she  cries — "  Dear  Tom,  make 

haste." 

No  time  is  lost !  away  their  steed  now  paced. 
"  Thy  song  was  sweet !  Oh,  sweet  indeed — 
But  it  wakes  those  I  wish  did  not  heed 
Thy  sweet,  thy  pure,  thy  lovely  lay ! 


THE    LOVERS^    FLIGHT.          123 

Oh,  Tom  !  oh,  dearest  Tom,  away. 
Around  us,  all  around,  where  my  eyes  turn 
They  come  !  I  see  their  torchlights  burn  1 
Oh,  Heaven  !  surrounded  on  each  side 
Their  stern,  fierce  faces  now  deride — 
They  Ve  sworn  I  shall  not  be  thy  bride  !" 
Her  eyes  burn  through  her  silken  veil, 
Where  passionate  love  doth  sweet  prevail — • 
Her  vermil  lips,  ripe,  rich  and  sweet, 
Melt  on  each  other  when  they  meet. 
Those  luscious  lips  in  sweet  repose 
Bloom  on  her  face  a  breathing  rose. 
Her  breath  like  that  fair  flower  as  sweet, 
It  charms  each  zephyr  it  doth  meet. 
Her  swelling  bosom  panted  high — 
Her  soul's  warm  passion  through  her  eye 
Came  melting,  as  she  her  lovely  head 
Laid  on  breast  of  him  with  whom  she  fled. 
As  you  gazed  upon  her  charms,  you  felt 


124          THE    LOVERS'    FLIGHT. 

With  her  own  sweetness  she  would  melt ! 

Lovely  as  moonlit  Venice  dreams 

The  ages  by,  so  beautiful  she  seems ! 

Oh,  Heaven!  how  fair!  what  language  tell 

A  beauty  so  remarkable  ! 

The  poet  sees  they  're  hemmed  in  quite, 

And  sees  no  way  to  pass  in  flight, 

How,  with  his  lovely  burden,  fight  ! 

Thrice  now  his  raven  stallion  neighed — 

Thrice  now  his  hands  on  weapons  laid. 

A  new  thought  strikes  him  :   he  would  try, 

And  pass  high  o'er  his  foemen  nigh — 

His  steed,  which  doth  pursuit  defy, 

Could  leap  proportionately  high. 

He  told  his  plan  to  her  who  lay 

Upon  his  breast,  like  Hope  at  day, 

Shot  defiance  from  his  midnight  eyes — • 

Swift  as  a  flash  away  he  flies 

With  her,  the  lovely  and  the  fair — 


THE    LOVERS'    FLIGHT.          125 

Swift  as  a  flash  they  cleave  the  air — 

They  pass  the  heads  of  those  below, 

They  leave  behind  the  following  foe. 

His  steed,  one  'midst  a  million  horse, 

Had  mighty  lungs  of  iron  force — 

As  occasionally  great  power  of  mind  in  man 

Accomplishes  what  no  other  can — 

Does  that  which  others  dare  not  try ; 

He  wins — they  gaze  with  wondering  eye ! 

While  other  steeds  fagged  in  the  chase,  • 

He  onward  hastened  in  his  pace; 

While  others  grew  weary,  weak  and  hot, 

Far  o'er  the  ground  he  swiftly  shot. 

He  seemed  a  gift  from  God — a  boon 

To  him  who  wore  the  scallop  shoon. 

The  thunder-footed  courser  fled 

Like  some  great  phantom  from  the  dead. 

Did  all  men  well  his  swift  steed  know 

Who  would  heed  the  flying  foe  ! 


126  THE    LOVERS^    FLIGHT. 

The  radiant  Ethel  Trekce  sleeps, 

She  knows  she  's  safe  with  him  who  keeps 

Her  in  his  arms,  and  she  feels  bless'd — 

Wearied  from  the  flight  she  sinks  to  rest. 

As  there  she  lies,  so  sweet  and  white, 

Kiss'd  by  her  lover,  God  and  night, 

Her  lover  cries :  "  Oh,  ere  I  met  thee,  dear, 

Heaven  had  everything  to  fear — 

A  fair  bark  thou,  by  tempests  toss'd 

In  dangerous  waters  lone  and  lost — 

'Midst    black    poison-weeds    one    pure    white 

rose — 

A  lamb  'midst  wolves — all,  all  thy  foes  1" 
On — on  they  dash,  the  tall  pine  trees 
Pass  by  them  like  a  long  blue  breeze — 
His  raven  stallion,  black  as  night, 
Passes  swift  along  like  storm  in  flight ; 
Thunders  along  like  some  vast  train — 
He  knows  the  way,  and  so  has  rein. 


THE    LOVERS1    FLIGHT.          127 

On — on  through  night — o'er  plain  and  hill, 
Past  mountains,  where  the  wolf  his  fill 
Of  howling  pours  to  the  ear  of  night, 
Which  oft  the  great-eyed  owl  doth  fright — 
Who  wings  his  sullen  flight  anigh, 
The  flying  triune  passing  by. 
Trees,  rocks  and  mountains  whirling  seem 
By  them  as  if  it  is  a  dream. 
Like  voice  of  sad  and  troubled  deep, 
The  moaning  night-wind  strikes  the  ear, 
As  if  some  mournful  ghost  doth  weep, 
Remorsefully  for  its  earth-career. 
Dim  in  the  clouds,  the  hills  above, 
Strange,  weird  phantoms  seem  to  move, 
And  shadow  lake,  long,  wide  and  deep, 
Whose  waters  lie  in  glassy  sleep. 
Bright  Orion  and  the  Bears  give  light, 
From  the  cloudy  shores  of  night. 
"Star-whispering  night !  canst  thou  not  tell 


128  THE    LOVERS'    FLIGHT. 

Life's  secret  to  my  yearning  soul  ? 

Canst  thou  not  tell  me  where  doth  dwell 

The  great  God  at  the  highest  goal  ? 

A  sentence  from  the  golden  lips 

Of  yonder  star  so  fair  and  bright, 

Might  wisdom  shed  to  man,  who  dips 

The  blackened  waters  of  earth's  gulf  of  night ; 

Yet  like  a  melody  far  fled 

God  still  is  silent  on  the  mountain-head. 

Oh,  this  will  be  till  He  appears 

Far  gazing  o'er  the  countless  years. 

Wake  !  wake !  sweet  maid,  for  in  my  breast 

Thou  hast  waked  a  wish  that  will  not  rest, 

Until  those  brilliant  burning  eyes, 

Have  oped  on  me  a  sweet  surprise. 

Wake  !  lift  those  lids  of  loveliness, 

That  thy  holy  gaze  my  soul  may  bless — 

And  with  me  listen  to  the  sea, 

Which  speaks  like  a  tender  memory  ! " 


THE    LOVERS^    FLIGHT.          129 

She  wakes !  love's  blush  is  on  her  cheek, 
Red  as  the  rich  and  rosy  wine, 
And  sweetly  from  her  eyes  do  speak 
A  beauty  that  is  all  divine — 
A  beauteous  love  that  lives  sublime — 
That  lives  beyond  the  reach  of  time, 
Like  flowers  immortal,  fair  and  sweet, 
That  bloom  in  Heaven  at  Jesus'  feet. 
On — on  they  dash- — scenes  rude,  fair  are 
By  them  swift  traversed,  then  left  afar — 
Now  through  a  moonlit  valley  sleeping 
Beneath  a  robe  of  fairest  flowers, 
While  far  above  star-souls  are  peeping 
Down  on  earth  and  the  mortal  hours. 
The  Hours  have  chased  the  stars  away, 
There  blushing  comes  the  stepping  Day, 
As  Night's  skirts  trail  far  down  the  skies, 
Fading  'neath  the  watcher's  eyes. 
Lovely  flowers  the  earth  adorn 


130  THE    LOVERS^    FLIGHT. 

Under  lifted  eye-lids  of  the  morn. 

The  opal-colored  morning  calls 

Blithe  birds  and  happy  madrigals. 

Now  Tom  Reworb,  the  poet,  thought 

On  life,  on  man — on  what  man  wrought — 

His  aims,  ambitions,  and  desires — 

Again  his  Ethel  sleeps — she  tires 

With  the  long  ride — 'tis  well !  when  fine 

She  was  so  flowery-feminine — 

For  she  was  saved  the  rude  fierce  shocks 

Of  nature,  where  the  forest  mocks. 

The  bard  all  nature's  beauties  did  absorb — 

This  poet  strange — strange  Tom  Reworb — 

Sent  them  full  many  folds  more  fair, 

To  shine  in  poesy  rich  and  rare. 

"  Oh,  man  !  thou  stranger  on  the  earth — 

Forever  restless  from  thy  birth, 

Thy  love,  oh,  wretch !  for  what  thou  hast  not, 

Makes  life  through  foiled  hopes  a  hapless  lot, 


THE    LOVERS'    FLIGHT.          131 

Through    life,   love    of    fame 's    a    quenchless 

fire, 

In  death  fame  's  a  rose  o'er  the  dead's  desire  ! 
Each  great  man  marks  where'er  he  trod 
In  his  pathway  up  to  God. 
Who  tells  a  pure  truth  real  and  clever, 
Tells  it  to  the  world  forever!" 
The  dreadful  gallop  of  his  steed 
Is  like  a  tempest  great  and  vast — 
The  bright  sparks  from  his  hoofs  do  bleed 
Like  stars  unnumbered  flying'past — 
So  fast  the  bard  starts  from  his  dreams 
A  moment,  then  renew  their  beams: 
"  Each  breeze  that  blows  across  the  brow 
Bears  something  of  God's  wealth  of  love — 
Oh,  garner  what  He  yields  you  now, 
And  profit  by  it  wheresoe'er  you  rove. 
The  sky,  so  soft  above  the  earth, 
Is  vail  of  blue  God  spreads  between 


132  THE    LOVERS'    FLIGHT. 

Man's    world    and    where    angels    have    their 

birth  — 

Angels  that  see  man,  by  man  unseen. 
Is  this  the  noon  of  earth  ? — its  prime  ? 
Is  this  man's  hour,  elate  and  wise? 
Or  do  we  live  in  that  sad  time, 
'Midst  wreck  of  earth's  fair  Paradise  ? 
Greater  than  conqueror  or  king, 
The  Thinker  on  his  throne  of  Thought 
A  scepter  wields — puissant  thing — 
By  which  mutations  great  are  wrought. 
As  lover  clasps  his  leman  dear, 
All  trembling  with  the  joy  she  gives, 
The  Thinker,  when  his  thought  grows  clear, 
So  shakes  for  joy,  he  knows  his  great  thought 

lives. 

The  true  bard's  poems  ne'er  will  die, 
For  God  inspires  them  from  on  high — 
When  earth,  time,  man  have  passed  away, 


THE    LOVERS'    FLIGHT.          133 

Heaven's  angels  will  his  songs  essay. 

In  eternal  bloom  the  true  bard's  flowers — 

Flowers  of  thought — forever  blush, 

And  hope  walks  smiling  in  the  bowers 

Where  youth,  love,  joy  are  ever  fresh 

As  glorious  Shakspeare's  mighty  name 

Stars  the  skyey  heights  of  fame. 

Christ's  life  is  a  poem  more  sublime 

Than  any  given  unto  rhyme. 

There  are  dark  times  when  naught  can  bless 

The  poet — a  sense  of  loneliness, 

E'en  midst  the  press  of  outward  life — 

When  doth  awake  the  inner  strife 

Of  soul  with  unseen  powers  that  be, 

To  learn  life's  strange,  strange  mystery. 

There  e'er  seem  hues  of  tender  grief, 

Like  yellow  on  the  autumn  leaf, 

In  the  true  poet's  world  of  Thought, 

As  though  a  breakless  link  is  wrought 


i34          THE    LOVERS'    FLIGHT. 

Between  the  feelings — the  desires — 

Of  the  poet,  who  aspires, 

And  his  powers  to  rise  and  soar 

O'er  clouds  that  shut  him  from  God's  lore. 

Hark!  songsters  waked,  sing  merrily 

With  other  notes  of  melody! 

We  hear — we,  of  the  keener  sense, 

Who  list  with  hearts  and  souls  intense — 

Above  earth's  music,  the  distant  melody 

Of  song  that 's  sung  in  Heaven  eternally, 

By  the  Immortals  that  God's  true  children  be. 

A  song — a  poem  grand — and  so  sublime 

Tis   little   understood    by   man    this   side   of 

time — 
The  greatest  poet   wrote  it — God  sublime  of 

might — 
All  minor  poets  feel  its  influence  when  they 

write : 


THE    LOVERS'    FLIGHT.          135 

Tis  this  for  which  on  earth  we  ever  long  and 

yearn, 
To    comprehend    God's    poem,   the    Epic  of 

Etern  !" 

Like  mighty  rush  of  torrent  goes 
The  jet-black  courser  on  his  way, 
Far  from  the  presence  of  the  foes — 
Earth  drinks  the  full-blown  blush  of  day. 
And  she,  the  silken  soul  of  love, 
Gazes  in  her  lover's  eyes  above — 
While  he  sees  all  of  Paradise 
In  the  deep  sweet  beauty  of  her  eyes, 
Where  immortal  light  shines  fair, 
And  clears  his  soul  of  every  care. 
As  o'er  the  golden  twilight  sea 
A  voice  steals  like  a  memory 
Of  happy  love,  the  bard  is  blessed, 
When  by  Ethel's  lovely  arms  caressed. 
"  Too  fair,  too  pure  for  time's  vile  touch 


136           THE    LOVERS^    FLIGHT. 

Art  thou,  dear  one,  I  love  so  much  ; 

Oh,   night   comes   not  when  thou  art  by  my 

side, 

For  where  thou  art,  God  doth  Himself  abide." 
She  smiles  upon  him  as  sweet  morn 
Smiles  on  a  lake  of  shade  and  gloom  ; 
He  feels  her  heart  beat  high,  as  borne 
Along  they  pass  amid  the  bloom 
Of  midsummer's  fruits  and  flowers, 
And  fairest,  sweetest  sylvan  bowers. 
He  loved  her  with  a  poet's  love, 
Which  surpasseth  angels'  love  above  ; 
Her  love  was  like  impassioned  light — 
A  yearning,  burning,  steady  fire  ; 
She  threw  her  soul,  a  star  so  bright, 
Impulsive  to  her  heart's  desire. 
He  kissed  her  rich  love-wine-kissed  lips ; 
The  burning  beauty  of  her  eye 
He  drank — and  from  her  being  sips 


THE    LOVERS^    FLIGHT.          137 

The  glory  of  her  spirit  nigh. 

Once  more  she  sleeps — for  she  's  at  peace 

And  happy  in  her  lover's  arms  ; 

His  metaphysic-reveries  increase, 

A  bard  he  for  whom  the  mystical  hath  charms : 

"  The  stars  are  tears  that  God  once  wept, 

Far  back,  when  e'en  Etern  was  young  ; 

When  all  of  life  save  He  yet  slept 

In  womb  of  Chaos  yet  unsprung. 

His  tears  fell  through  the  voidless  waste 

Till  angels  sprang  to  life  and  light, 

When  with  their  beauty  charmed,  they  placed 

Them  on  the  garland  brow  of  night. 

The  soul  e'er  lives — to  Him  goes  back 

From  whom  it  came  to  earth  and  time  ; 

Aye  !  it  will  live  when  stars  grow  black 

And  fade — souls  live  fore'er  sublime  I 

Though  Wrong  may  riot  for  a  time 

And  Evil  vail  in  robes  of  Good, 


138          THE    LOVERS^    FLIGHT. 

As  o'er  prose  soars  poetry  sublime, 

So  Right  shall  rise  over  Wrong's  black  flood. 

As,  fashioned  by  the  hand  of  God, 

Yon  mountain,  clothed  in  mist  and  snow, 

Looms  o'er  the  clouds  where  none  have  trod 

Save  angels  that  guard  man  below, 

So,  fair  in  loneliness  doth  sleep 

Yon  lake's  wide  waters  bright  and  deep. 

God's  great  piercing  eyes  see  all ! 

His  mighty  hand  of  awful  force 

Compels  the  dreaded  storm  to  fall, 

And  guides  the  wandering  planet's  course. 

Far  through  the  clouds  and  storms  of  life 

The  pole-star  of  unburied  truth 

Shines  bright,  e'en  though  the  selfish  strife 

Of  some  may  blind  their  eyes,  forsooth. 

We  fret  because  of  limitation, 

And  ever  yearn  for  far  progression : 

Perchance  when  God  opens  the  gates  of  Truth 


THE    LOVERS^    FLIGHT.          139 

With  the  golden  key  of  eternity, 

'Twill  prove  to  all  His  tender  ruth 

In  vailing  earth-life  with  mystery  ! 

The  Universe,  though  great  and  grand, 

Is  held  in  the  hollow  of  God's  hand — 

Two  souls  are  in  the  poet's  breast, 

They  e'er  produce  a  wild  unrest ; 

One  would  cling  to  earth  and  time, 

One  o'er  the  stars  would  soar  sublime." 

"  Whirlwind,"  so  named  the  poet's  steed, 

Still  onward  passed  in  wondrous  speed, 

While  lovely  Ethel  slept  away, 

Under  the  rosy  depths  of  day. 

Hills,  mountains,  rise  as  the  courser  scours, 

Higher  than  Ilion's  haughty  towers. 

"  The  flower  of  life,  though  long  or  brief, 

Opens  its  petals  leaf  by  leaf. 

Through  yon  forest  dark  and  wide 

Perchance  lone  specters  ever  glide — 


i4o  THE    LOVERS^    FLIGHT. 

Perchance  these  woods  of  ebon  night 

Conceal  some  fearful  ghouls  from  sight ! 

Where  fiends  oft  curse  the  straying  light 

That  violates  eternal  night. 

As  ghastly  as  the  Gorgon's  head 

The  evil  things  that  these  forests  tread. 

Here  the  weird  witches  of  the  air 

Howl  round  the  hills  and  shake  their  hissing 

hair. 

From  swamp  Despair  where  all  is  drear 
Still  blooms  the  lovely  flower  of  Hope 
To  all  who  yield  not  unto  fear, 
But  with  the  worst  that  comes  will  cope. 
I  love  to  rove  at  early  morn, 
And  breathe  the  scent  of  flowers  rare, 
When  Summer,  Spring's  fair  child,  is  born, 
To  walk  the  vales  a  virgin  fair. 
I  hear  the  mighty  march  of  God 
As  he  thunders  through  the  deep  ! 


THE    LOVERS^    FLIGHT.          141 

It  tells  me  here  on  earth's  low  sod 

He  doth  o'er  all  a  loving  vigil  keep. 

The  morning  star  of  life  is  still 

For  me  soft  glancing  on  the  hill ; 

Yet  gloom  oft  settles  on  my  soul 

For  fear  I  fail  the  shining  goal — 

As  Raphael  found  the  gates  of  Hell 

Strong  barricaded  by  a  spell, 

When  he  was  sent  from  Heaven  to  see, 

How  wrought  the  sons  of  sorcery. 

Oh,  for  an  atmosphere  more  clear 

Than  that  of  common  men  and  things, 

To  soar  high  o'er  the  welkin  here, 

On  purple,  azure,  golden  wings ! 

Though  I  stand  on  a  hill  of  golden  hours, 

Shall    I  stand  on  the   mountain    of  diamond 

flowers? 

What  boots  it  when  that  boon  is  sweet, 
Unknown  unto  the  vulgar  wise, 


1 42  THE    LOVERS'    FLIGHT. 

The  poet,  in  his  soul's  retreat, 

Above  all  other  things  doth  prize! 

Oh,  God!  shall  open-throated  war 

O'er  this  fair  land  much  longer  roar? 

I  hope,  ere  flowers  another  spring 

Peace  will  have  spread  her  lovely  wing 

O'er  this  too-long  deep-suffering  land — 

Oh,  God  !  with  thy  almighty  hand, 

Hurl  war  and  crime  far  in  the  deep, 

So  that  we  all  with  joy  may  weep  ! 

Through  eternity  Truth  hath  no  fear, 

But  sails  triumphant  Falsehood  o'er, 

As  the  immortal  starry  sphere 

Is  high  above  earth  evermore. 

Some  mortals  see  things  in  dark  light, 

Their  minds  and  eyes  are  vailed  in  night — 

As  "  woman's  rights  "  (?)  are  woman's  wrongs- 

For  she  who  willing  leaves  her  sphere 

Throws  that  away  which  right  belongs 


THE    LOVERS'    FLIGHT.          143 

To  her  and  woman's  lofty  empire  dear. 

Up  from  the  azure  hills  of  God 

A  Living  Presence  seems  to  rise, 

And  soar  above  the  heavy  clod 

Of  earth  unto  fair  Paradise. 

The  dewdrop  on  yon  fragrant  flower 

May  be  the  tear  of  some  sweet  happy  star 

That  weeps  for  joy  that  God's  great  power 

Shields  all  creation  near  and  far. 

Oh,  could  the  music  of  my  lyre 

Follow  the  high  flight  of  my  will, 

To  highest  Heaven  I  would  aspire, 

By  climbing  the  poet's  holy  hill. 

Oh,  life  is  a  strange,  mysterious  dream, 

Mingling  with  the  day  and  night — 

I  long  have  tried  to  find  that  beam 

Which  will  make  all  things  clear  and  bright. 

Aye  !  vast  as  night — wide  as  endless  morn 

I've  restless  sought  life's  mysterious  truth 


144          THE    LOVERS'    FLIGHT. 

In  vain — innate  with  me  this  feeling  born, 
Hence  melancholy  marks  my  soul  forsooth. 
Oh,  for  a  land  where  man's  spirit  never  mopes, 
A  land  where  roves  the  pure-eyed  loves  and 

hopes. 

The  nameless  tumuli  on  shore 
Of  lone  seas  with  melancholy  skies, 
May  hold  a  germ,  forevermore, 
Of  knowledge  hid  from  wisest  eyes. 
Eternal  whispers,  breathing  round, 
Breathe  the  warm  soul  of  other  days, 
I  feel  the  import,  deep,  profound  : 
God  is  not  far  from  him  who  prays — 
When  his  cause  is  wise  and  just, 
And  he  earnestly  prays  because  he  must. 
I  hear  the  bells  of  God  ! — they  ring 
The  ending  of  an  epoch  old : 
Oh,  Wisdom,  brood  and  spread  thy  wing 
More  freely  o'er  the  new  unrolled. 


THE    LOVERS    FLIGHT.          145 

Great  minds  honor  worth  and  brain, 

Small  minds  to  honor  wealth  are  fain. 

Who  never  doubted,  never  thought — • 

In  conscientious  doubt  is  power, 

From    such    doubt    the    greatest    things   are 

wrought ; 

Tis  to  the  soul  what  perfume  is  to  the  flower. 
Great  men  are  numbered  by  no  year — 
The  life  of  each  immortal  name 
Is  in  the  thought-prints  which  appear 
Along  the  skyey  heights  of  fame. 
That  I  might  tread  the  Milky  Way- 
Forever  wander  mid  the  stars, 
I  then  perchance  might  find,  some  day, 
A  key  to  ope  the  gate  that  bars 
The  way  to  highest,  pure,  clear  light, 
Above  earth's  long  and  sombre  night." 
Like  moonlight  on  the  breast  of  night, 
Sweetly  dreaming  of  God's  Heaven-lived  light, 


1 45  THE     LOVERS'    FLIGHT. 

So  lovely  slept  sweet  Ethel  fair, 

On  bosom  of  her  "lover  there. 

Like  twilight  o'er  a  sinless  world 

Her  silken  hair  o'er  her  pure  bosom  curled  ; 

Her  mouth  is  with  such  sweetness  ripe 

It  doth  the  tenderest  kiss  invite. 

But  when  they  passed  a  holy  grail, 

With  water  filled  from  Heaven's  sweet  vale, 

'Twould  seem  some  sprinkled  Ethel's  face, 

She  woke  to  feel  her  love's  embrace, 

And  hear  throbbing  of  the  vesper  bells 

Which  from  cathedral  sweetly  swells. 

"  Thou  hast  woke  to  give  me  bliss, 

Dear  Ethel !     Oh,  thy  charms  inspire  ! 

I  feel  immortal  when  thy  kiss 

Sinks  deep  into  my  soul  of  fire  ! 

What  cannot  love  forsooth  effect? 

It  drew  Diana  from  the  spheres — 

Mount  Ida's  youth  it  did  elect — 


THE    LOVERS'     FLIGHT.  147 

It  holds  the  reign  o'er  endless  years." 

Low,  soft,  yet  audible  and  sweet, 

To  him  and  Heaven  she  breathed  his  name — 

Her  velvet  voice  his  ears  do  greet 

As  if  from  highest  Heaven  it  came. 

"  Dear  Tom  !"  she  whispered,  "  thou  art  fair !" 

And  heaved  a  plaintive,  ardent  sigh — 

"  I  love  to  breathe  the  virgin  air 

Of  God,  and  hear  the  birds  sing  nigh. 

All,  everything  is  sweet  to  me 

When  I  thy  glorious  image  see. 

These  hours  are  sweet,  these  hours  are  fair, 

Time-flowers  God  hands  to  me  from  Heaven — 

Till  I  met  thee  my  life  was  bare, 

Since   then   it   blooms   like   garden    of    sweet 

Aidenn." 

Like  seraphic  music  in  Heaven  found, 
The  flower-tones  of  her  voice  breathed  round  ; 
Fair  and  sweet,  pure  as  Christ's  tear, 


148 


THE    LOVERS'     FLIGHT. 


She  loved   her   bard,  warm    as   sun  her   love 

beamed  ; 

She  trusted  him  without  a  fear, 
When  awake  or  in  his  arms  she  dreamed. 
Lo  !  there,  in  beauty  'neath  the  skies, 
The  lovers'  home  doth  lovely  rise, 
And  Kansas  prairies  meet  their  eyes  ! 


CANTO    X. 

BATTLE  OF  WESTPORT. 

ILL  summer  Price  had  forced  his  way, 
With  his  fierce  army  of  the  Gray, 
T'vvard   north   and   distant   setting 

sun, 

While  Curtis,  Blunt,  and  Pleasonton 
Disputed  every  foot  he  stepped, 
With  Kansas  men,  who  never  slept 
So  sound  but  they  remembered  well 
The  foes  that  came  like  fiends  of  Hell. 
And  many  a  man  of  Kansas  soil 
Had  shouldered  arms  the  foe  to  foil ; 

They  swarmed  prairie,  hill  and  glen, 

[149] 


150        BATTLE    OF    WESTPORT. 

To  full  three  times  ten  thousand  men — 

Men  who  were  fighting  for  their  all ; 

And  the  invaders  to  the  wall 

They  swore  to  drive — fierce  hurl  them  back — 

Swift  as  a  cyclone  forests  rack. 

Price  fiercely  fought  to  Westport — there 

Looked  longingly  to  Kansas,  where 

He  sees  afar  more  spoils  and  name — 

Where  he  thought  to  win  a  brighter  fame. 

o  o 

But  this  he  found  a  task  full  sore — 

That  fame  was  his,  ah  !  nevermore. 

•st  #  #  #  * 

October  claims  of  time  a  share — • 

'Tis  Sabbath  morn  !     Day's  dawn  is  fair — 

Though  Phcebus  yet  is  seen  nowhere. 

'Tis  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-four, 

And  into  Kansas  cross  Price  swore 

He  would,  that  day,  the  twenty-third — 

Hark  !  voice  of  coming  battle  's  heard  ! 


BATTLE     OF    WESTPORT.         151 

The  bugle  now  awakes  the  air, 

Breathing  sad  tones  of  beauty  there. 

The  sullen  tread  of  hosts  is  heard, 

And  neigh  of  war-horse  fierce — the  word 

Of  command.     All  now  is  still, 

The  wind  is  lull'd  from  hill  to  hill. 

All  suddenly  red  flames  burst  out 

From  cannons  on  a  breastwork  high, 

Behind  which  lay  the  Rebel  rout  ; 

And  iron  balls  scream  down  the  sky, 

And  bombshells  burst  before,  behind, 

While  Death  and  Ruin  ride  the  wind  ; 

Carbine  bullets  shrilly  sing 

Dread  notes  of  death — earth,  heaven,  ring! 

The  Federals  pour  their  swift  replies, 

War's  thunder  mounting  to  the  skies. 

Many  a  strong  and  mighty  man 

Falls  dead,  falls  dying,  spent  and  wan. 

The  breastworks  topple,  tremble,  fall ! 


152         BATTLE    OF    WESTPORT. 

Before  shot,  shell  and  cannon  ball ; 

Down  on  each  other  rush  fierce  foes, 

And  dark  in  deadly  combat  close  ! 

They  close  in  sable  clouds  of  smoke ; 

A  yell  bursts  out  which  Sol  awoke  ! 

For  instantly  his  heavy  head 

Up  rises  from  his  Orient  bed. 

And  midst  the  roar  and  thunder  dread, 

The  battle-shaken  hills  do  groan  ; 

A  thousand  ghosts  of  fallen  dead 

Shriek  madly  to  their  God  Unknown  ! 

The  battle  thickens — in  the  van, 

The  awful  revelry  of  death 

Would  melt  the  hardest  heart  of  man  ; 

Would  make  him  catch  his  faltering  breath. 

The  fight  goes  on — more  fearful  grows  ; 

Dun  clouds  of  battle  black  the  air; 

The  shrieks,  the  groans,  midst  dying  woes 

Are  mingled  in  war's  dread  despair. 


BATTLE     OF     WESTPORT.        153 

The  battle  roars  like  to  the  blast 
That  drives  the  forest  from  the  shore; 
And  thunders  like  the  storm  that  vast 

Sweeps  Hell's  great  dreary  regions  o'er. 
*#•*** 

Day  wanes — the  battle's  o'er,  and  Price, 

Defeated,  leaves  the  foughten  field. 

The   dead  are   heaped   and  scattered,  cold   as 

ice, 

And  they  increase  as  the  dying  yield. 
The  living  care  for  all  they  can, 
And  cheer  each  dire  afflicted  man 
By  some  kind  act  or  promise  given, 
Which  smooths  his  way,  we  trust,  to  Heaven. 
I  sympathize  with  those  who  fall 
Down  stricken  by  the  deadly  ball, 
For  I  have  felt  the  cruel  thing 
Tear  through  my  flesh  with  angry  sting. 
War  is  the  worst  curse  of  all  time, 


154        BATTLE     OF     WESTPORT. 

Against  both  God  and  man  a  crime. 

Night,  in  her  robes  of  mourning,  sad 

Comes  grieving  for  men's  passions  bad — 

Passions  that  drive  the  soul  away 

And  leave  naught  save  some  bloody  clay. 

Here  lay  the  bleeding  trooper  dying, 

There  lay  the  cause,  part  of  a  shell ; 

And,  powder-burnt,  his  steed  is  flying 

Swift  from  the  sight  where  Death  wrought  his 

spell. 

Each  bird  has  flown,  from  awe  is  still  ; 
The  wolf,  in  fear,  howls  from  the  hill ! 
The  prairie-dog  barks  fierce  and  wild, 
Before  his  earth-house  door  defiled  ; 
While  his  household,  snakes  and  owls, 
In  earth  deep,  listen  to  his  howls. 
Night  thickens  !  wolf  and  dog  are  still ; 
And  silence  broods  o'er  plain  and  hill ! 
Still  !  All  still  since  battle-blast, 


BATTLE     OF     WESTPORT.         155 

Save  when  some  new-born  phantom  passed  ; 
Lost  !  shrieking  for  some  beacon  light 
To  guide  it  through  the  starless  night. 
Men  died  so  dreadful  on  that  day, 
Some  of  the  souls  that  fled  away, 
Not  vain  said,  of  bodies  thus  bereft, 

Were  stained  with  blood  of  corses  left ! 
****** 

Oh,  Muse!  we  now  must  here  recite 
The  valor  in  each  army  there, 
The  brows  of  those  who  led  the  fight 
For  bravery  deserve  wreathed  laurels  fair; 
So  does  each  private  soldier  too, 
Whether  he  wore  the  gray  or  blue. 
The  Rebels  thirty  thousand  strong, 
Their  foes  well-nigh  as  numerous  throng. 
McNeil,  the  dauntless,  showed  his  skill 
In  war,  and  showed  it  with  a  will, 
Like  Hancock  in  the  Wilderness, 


156         BATTLE     OF     WESTPORT. 

His  country's  friend  in  its  distress.* 

Here  Jennison  and  Ford  did  war 

With    troops    that  oft   had    heard    the   battle 

roar ; 

With  his  brigade,  Moonlight,f  the  brave, 
To  Price  defeat,  his  prowess  gave, 
As  two  days  before  that  Rebel  crew 
He  fought  upon  the  Little  Blue. 

*  General  Winfield  Scott  Hancock. 

"  On  the  7th  (  May  7,  1864),  General  Grant  moved  his 
army  around  Lee's  right,  and  marched  rapidly  to  seize  the 
strong  position  of  Spottsylvania  Court-IJouse,  which  would 
have  placed  him  between  the  Confederates  and  Richmond. 
Lee  at  once  divined  his  purpose,  and  fell  back  rapidly  to 
the  heights  around  Spottsylvania  Court-House,  which  he 
occupied  on  the  8th.  Upon  arriving  before  this  position, 
Grant  found  his  enemy  strongly  intrenched  in  it,  and  at 
once  resolved  to  drive  him  from  it.  On  the  loth  of  May  he 
made  a  determined  attack  upon  the  Confederate  line,  but 
failed  to  earn*  it.  At  daybreak  on  the  I2th,  a  furious  as 
sault  was  made  by  Hancock's  corps  upon  the  right  center 
of  Lee's  line,  which  was  carried  in  handsome  style." — 
McCabe ' s  Centennial  History  of  the  United  States. 
•  \  Col.  Thomas  Moonlight,  of  Leavenworth. 


BATTLE     OF     WESTPORT.         157 

Here   Hinton*  proved  to  his  country  he  was 

true. 

The  militia  under  Blair's  f  command 
Sad  havoc  wrought  on  every  hand. 
Here  Major  Simpson^:  battled  bravely 
With  his  Fifteenth  Kansas  Cavalry. 
Here  Walker  §  in  front  ranks  did  lead, 
Astride  of  his  uncertain  steed. 
Here  fought  Daniel  Boone,  the  grandson  bold 
Of  Kentucky's  mighty  hunter  old. 
'Twas  here  that  Colonel  Veale  did  well 
'Gainst  numerous  foes,  wild,  fierce  and  fell — 
His  Shawnee  County  Regiment 

*  R.  J.  Hinton,  author  of  the  history  of  "  The  Army  of 
the  Border." 

f  General  Charles  W.  Blair,  of  Fort  Scott. 

\  B.  F.  Simpson,  present  U.  S.  Marshal,  March  i,  1880. 

§  Col.  Sam.  Walker,  of  Lawrence,  whose  steed  had  the 
disagreeable  habit  of  going  over  to  the  enemy's  lines  dur 
ing  battle — a  habit  which  had  caused  the  death  of  several  of 
its  owners. 


158        BATTLE     OF     WESTPORT. 

Fought  like  veterans  of  the  tent — 

Like  veterans  of  the  field  of  blood, 

Who  Ve  war  and  all  its  woe  withstood  ; 

And  many  a  rebel  felt  the  power — 

They  of  the  Southern  host  the  flower — 

Of  these  mighty  men  that  came 

Down  upon  them  like  a  flame 

Of  Hell — these  men  of  war,  whom  war  called 

there, 

Whom  proud  Topeka  claimed  a  share. 
Martin,*  Bonebrake,  Case  and  Burns, 
Brockway,  Williams,  Hun  toon  were  there — 
Smith,  Douthitt,  each  his  laurel  earns — 
Which  should  ever  shine  in  poesy  fair. 
Here  Major  Ross.f  and  his  true  men, 

*  Hon.  John  Martin,  P.  I.  Bonebrake,  present  Auditor 
of  State,  Ross  Burns,  A.  H.  Case,  Judge  David  Brockway, 
Arch.  Williams,  Dr.  A.  J.  Muntoon,  Jacob  Smith,  and  W. 
P.  Douthitt,  all  citizens  of  Topeka. 

f  Ex-Senator  E.  G.  Ross,  editor  Lawrence  Standard. 


BATTLE     OF     WESTPORT.         159 

Did  service  good  for  country  then. 

'Mid  thickest  of  the  fearful  fight, 

The  Major  spurred  his  steed  of  night — 

And  hurl'd  hot  shot  on  enemies, 

As  now  his  truncheon  pen  he  plies. 

Here  Hoyt,  the  hero  of  the  Blue,* 

Fought  brave  and  well  the  battle  through. 

o  o 

Joe  Shelby  and  his  cavalcade 

Here  proved  of  death  they  were  not  afraid  ; 

They  seldom  heard  a  milder  note 

Than  what  came  out  of  War's  dread  throat. 

They  wildly,  madly,  reckless  fought, 

As  though  life  nor  death  to  them  was  naught. 

Here  Colonel  Moore f  led  a  bold  band 

*  "  In  the  fight  at  the  Blue,  Col.  Hoyt,  with  a  portion  of 
the  Fifteenth  Kansas  Regiment,  made  one  of  the  most  gal 
lant  saber  charges  recorded  in  the  history  of  the  war." — 
0.  II.  Gregg's  History  of  Johnson  County,  Kansas. 

f  Col.  John  C.  Moore,  the  well-known  journalist  and 
lecturer. 


160        BATTLE     OF     WESTPORT. 

Under  Shelby's  fierce  command. 
'Tvvas  here,  John  Edwards*  did  all  show, 
He  was  the  Federals'  bitter  foe  : 
'Though  now  he  wields  the  mighty  pen, 
The  bickering  blade  he  wielded  then  ; 
His  men  were  brave  as  brave  could  be, 
They  fought  and  they  died  recklessly. 
'Twas  here  Todd,  the  guerrilla,  fell, 
A  reckless,  daring  child  of  Hell, 
To  whom  peace  seemed  a  waste  of  time, 
Who  gloried  in  the  hour  of  crime. 
Here  Marmaduke  his  force  did  lead 
With  all  the  pomp  of  war  to  bleed — 
Here  Fagan,  Cabel,  Gordon  too, 
And  Jackman,  Thompson — leaders  true 
Unto  the  Southern  cause — command 
Troops  fighting  for  Price  on  every  hand. 

*  Major  John  N.   Edwards,  editor   of  the    Sedalia  Dem 
ocrat,  Sedalia,  Mo. 


BATTLE     OF     WESTPORT.         161 

Many  more  were  there  who  battled  well, 

Which  we  leave  to  plodding  prose  to  tell : 

The  report,*  and  Wilder's  Annals,  too, 

Are  exact  enough  for  you. 

The  deeds  of  valor  on  the  day 

Of  the  battle  of  Westport  it  hath  famed 

As  Bunker  Hill  is  famed  for  aye — 

As  Lexington  is  immortal  named. 

*  *  *  *  * 

Ah !  Price,  thou  wrought  thine  own  defeat, 
When  thou  offended  thy  great  power, 
Who  best  knew  War's  black  art — 'twas  meet 
That  Quantrell  had  been  with  thee  this,  thy 

fatal  hour. 

*  *  •*  *•  * 

The  storm  of  war  has  blown  afar, 

The  star  of  peace  is  shining  now — 

"  Swords  to  plowshares  "  turned  now  are — 

*  The  official  report  of  the  battle. 
ii 


1 62  CONCLUSION. 

All  is  as  calm  as  Christ's  meek  brow. 
Where  once  War's  bloody  feet  did  rove — 
Whose  red  hands  death  on  progress  hurled, 
Spring  bowers  of  beauty,  like  Bismarck  Grove, 
Where  mighty  minds  instruct  the  world. 


THE  END. 


LATELY   PUBLISHED. 


A      NEW      VOLUME      OF      POEMS 

BY 

THOMAS    BROWER    PEACOCK, 

THE  VENDETTA 

AND     OTHER     POEMS. 

From  among  the  many  favorable  opinions  of  the  Press, 
in  reviews  of  this  volume,  the  Publishers  make  the  follow- 
extracts: — 

THE  VENDETTA  AND  OTHER  POEMS.— "  Advance  sheets  of  this  vol 
ume,  which  is  soon  to  appear,  have  been  sent  to  us.  In  the  higher 
aspects  of  the  work,  the  author  has  given  many  evidences  of  poetic 
power.  His  figures  are  well  chosen  and  forcible,  the  sentiments  are 
all  that  could  be  desired  in  elevation  and  purity,  and  his  conceptions 
for  the  most  part  gratifying.  The  parts  of  the  book  before  us  abound 
in  tine  thoughts." — Kansas  City  Journal. 

"  The  opening  poem,  '  THE  VENDETTA,'  is  a  '  tragic  romantic  poem, 
in  five  cantos,  and  while  it  presents  verses  of  much  beauty,  its  prevailing 
tone  is  one  of  such  exuberantly  sombre  hue,  that  it  falls  somewhat 
short  of  being  in  complete  accord  with  the  best  songs  of  the  day.''— 
Utica  Herald. 

"  Kansas  is  a  poem  full  of  terse  images,  of  vigorous  passages  and 
eloquent  rhyme,  unwritten  and  waiting  for  the  music  of  the  centuries. 
These  beautiful  thoughts,  poetically  expressed  in  prose,  induce  reflec 
tion  upon  the  poetry  of  Kansas,  and  her  poet,  as  Thomas  Brower 
Peacock  is  called  .  .  .  His  poetry  is  of  a  healthy,  elevated  char 
acter,  and  there  is  no  taint  of  the  fleshy  school." — Kansas  City  Times. 

"  The  recent  '  Atlantic  '  disaster  has  inundated  the  newspapers  with 
poems  relating  to  that  terrible  calamity.  Among  the  best  we  have 
seen  is  one  written  by  a  Kansas  poet,  T.  B.  Peacock.  It  contains  some 
fine  word  painting,  and  some  poetic  imagery  of  original  and  striking 
beauty.  Mr.  Peacock  is  the  author  of  a  small  volume  of  poems  which 
has  received  favorable  mention  in  many  first-class  critical  journals." — 
Henry  King  in  the  Topeka  Commonwealth. 


! 


•  •       •  ••      -...-•- 


